Stealing His Heart
by M.E. Johnson-McNeil
Summary: I'd spent way too much time on the streets to get dragged into this mess. But here I was, sitting in front of the world's greatest consulting detective, with some of the most terrifying information stored on a flash drive. Now, I would have to team up with the right side of the law for the first time. Hopefully some good would come of it. *M for smut, violence, and language*
1. Chapter 1: Baker Street

**Chapter 1: Baker Street**

I tore through the streets, shoving people out of my way. I could hear them following close behind me, the gap between us growing smaller and smaller. My heart felt as though it was going to beat out of my chest, my lungs struggling to get air. I had to keep going though. If they caught me, I was dead.

I turned the corner, glancing up at the sign. Baker Street. Perhaps I could lose them on Porter if traffic was congested enough. I could only hope that luck would finally be on my side. So far it had been failing me.

I felt my face go numb. I knew I wouldn't be able to make it to Porter. I didn't even think I'd be able to make it down Baker Street. My asthma had decided to raise its ugly head at the worst of times. I could feel my airway tightening, could see the black dots forming in front of my vision. I needed a safe place to hide and quickly.

Looking up, I saw a smaller blonde man getting ready to enter his home. I ran towards him, gasping for air.

"Please...sir...I know...I know you don't…"

A hand grabbed me by my jacket collar and dragged me inside. I watched as the blonde man followed me in, closing and locking the door. I lay on the floor, gasping like a fish out of water, trying my hardest to focus on my breathing. I had to be terrible at one of the things that was most important in life.

"Holmes, what the hell are you doing?" The blonde man said, staring at someone outside of my shrinking field of vision.

"Saving her life," another voice replied. "Use your eyes, Watson, and see that her lips are turning blue as well as her nail beds. Can you still hear us? Nod your head, no use wasting your breath."

I nodded quickly, rolling to my back to see a dark-haired man with brilliant blue eyes staring down at me with tepid interest. I let out a hoarse cry as he lifted me into his arms, whisking me up the stairs. The blonde man followed, hand on my wrist, taking my pulse.

"You wouldn't happen to have an inhaler, would you?" The man carrying me asked.

I could barely hear him over the roar of my heart racing in my ears and my gasps for breath. I managed to shake my head no, looking around wildly, trying to get my bearings.

"Of course you don't. Why would you? Well, I have one in my room, I'll be right back. Focus on your breathing for me, in and out. Watson, if you could make a hot cup of coffee, black, no sugar, no cream." With that, the man called Holmes set me down on a couch, disappearing into one of the rooms off the living room.

I sat up, leaning forward, struggling to catch my breath. Watson disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen. I closed my eyes, trying to focus. I heard someone re-enter the room and I opened my eyes to see Holmes standing in front of me, hand outstretched to reveal a bright red inhaler with a white cap. I snatched it from his hand and took two deep pulls, holding my breath in-between.

I could feel the vise-like grip slowly releasing on my lungs. Holmes knelt in front of me, staring into my face. I stared back, trying to see what he was thinking based on his facial expressions.

"You are frightened," he stated simply.

"Aye...wouldn't you be... if you had nearly died?" I panted, raising an eyebrow. "Going for...the basics I see...Mr…"

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. And you should stop talking and focus on your breathing. Your lips are still blue."

I smiled, shaking my head. "I...can't. There's...much to tell...you." I reached inside my jacket, searching for the hidden pocket that I'd sewn on a few days prior. "Here...read this...maybe you can help."

I pulled out some carefully folded papers, as well as a flash drive that I had taped to the bottom. I watched as he read over the notes quickly. Watson came back into the room, holding a steaming mug in his hands. He gave it to me and I took it.

"What is this...supposed to do?"

"Open your air passages," Sherlock said, not bothering to look up at me. "It has the same properties as the bronchodilator. I obviously don't have a nebulizer for you to use, so we must improvise."

Watson knelt down in front of me, taking my pulse. "Go ahead and drink it. I promise, it's not bad. I'm John by the way, John Watson."

I nodded, giving him a small smile before taking a sip. Sherlock disappeared from the room, heading back into what I could only assume was his bedroom. I grimaced at the taste of the bitter liquid, but knew that it had to be done. I couldn't afford to go to a hospital, especially not with the people trying to hunt me down.

Sherlock came back and sat down in the chair, flipping his laptop open before plugging in the memory stick. John had gotten up to retrieve a stethoscope from the kitchen. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"I was an army doctor," he explained. "If you don't feel comfortable with me examining you, we could always go to the emergency room."

"No hospitals," Sherlock and I both said at the same time.

John looked at both of us before sighing. "I'm assuming you have a reason as to why we can't go to the hospital to have her checked out properly."

"I'll tell you in a minute. I'm still reading."

He sighed before looking back at me. "So, are you comfortable with my examining you or would you prefer to go without?"

"Go ahead," I murmured, feeling the dizziness dissipate.

John listened to my heart beat and my breath sounds before inspecting my nails and face. He shined a flashlight in my eyes and made me recite what the day was, who the prime minister was, and what two plus two was. I answered each question, feeling some of my strength return. I let out a cough before leaning back on the sofa.

"So, find anything of interest Mr. Holmes?" I asked.

"A lot of things are interesting to me when it concerns crime. But I have to wonder how credible your information is. And if it is, how did you get it?"

"All in good time Mr. Holmes. First, I need to know if you will help me or if I should find someone else more capable?"

"I am perfectly capable," Sherlock said haughtily. "In fact, I would be the most capable person for this job."

"What job?" John asked, a look of confusion on his face. "Would someone please fill me in?"

Without a word, Sherlock passed the laptop and the documents to John, allowing him to read. I watched Watson read, seeing the horror and realization beginning to creep across his face. He looked up at me before turning to Sherlock. "We can't handle anything like that! We need to call the police, the army! This is much too big for us!"

"Mr. Holmes, it was my intention to bring this to you today. By chance I managed to find you at home while on the run. I need your help." I met his eyes, refusing to let my gaze waver. "Please, I have risked everything to bring this plan to light."

"Holmes...Holmes, you can't be serious," John said, horrified. "Are you actually considering what this lunatic woman has more than likely conjured up?"

I scoffed. "I would not make up anything like this. I need help. I cannot do this alone. In fact, I'm in way over my head as is. I'm a simple thief. I didn't realize that what I'd stolen was as...sinister as that. I've heard your name in the news solving impossible cases. Please. Help me."

"What's your name?" Sherlock asked me, leaning forward, knitting his fingers together.

"My name is Delilah McKinley and I am asking you for your help Sherlock Holmes."

"Consider my help yours."

* * *

I ate my dinner quickly, my stomach having been growling at me for nearly two hours. In that time, we'd discussed possible ways of thwarting the heinous act. Sherlock had been trying to get as much information as he could out of me, but I was quickly learning how to sidestep all of his questioning. I wasn't one to give up my personal information easily and I could tell by how impatient Sherlock was becoming that it was bothering him that he couldn't read me as easily as others.

I looked around the flat, taking in the decor. My eyes fell on a yellow smiley face with bullet holes in it. "Who did that?"

"I did," Sherlock answered. "I was bored."

"Well, I suppose you won't be doing that again any time soon as this case will more than likely take up most of your time."

"Yes, for some reason I doubt that I'll be bored. From what I've gleaned from the document, this will take place four months from now. So, now we have to figure out the who, the where, and the why." Sherlock closed his eyes and I looked at John, who shrugged. "Have you got any other information that you can recall? Anything at all?"

I shook my head. "I'm afraid I haven't. I've told you everything that I know."

"This is insane," John grumbled. "Absolutely, completely insane. We need to give this to the proper authorities Holmes."

"Absolutely not," Sherlock said, voice soft as he looked up at John. "Because who do you think is in this person's pocket? Where do you think they're going to get all of these things from? The government. The _proper authorities_ as you put it. They're inept and unable to handle something of this magnitude."

"And you are? Sherlock, admit it, this is way over our heads!"

"I hate to interrupt, but I've really got to be going," I said, rising to my feet. "Its been great meeting you both and having dinner with you, but I have to go home."

"And home is where? A cardboard box in an alley? The inside of a half-empty dumpster? Or will you be camping out under a bridge with a bin fire to keep you warm?" The consulting detective rose from his chair, going to stand directly in front of me. "You have no home and nowhere to go to."

I could feel my face pale and my eyes went wide. "How did you-?"

"Know that? I've been observing you for the past two hours. You're wearing four different layers of clothing, no doubt layering up for the colder weather that's rolling in. Your hair, while not absolutely dreadful, is tangled and there's a bit of grease forming at your roots, meaning that you haven't had the chance to bathe in a few days. Your shoes are practically worn through, your eyes have large bags underneath of them, and you ate as if you haven't had a good meal for at least a week." Sherlock smiled at me and I wanted to slap him across the face. "And don't even get me started on the smell."

"Do you really not have a place to go?" John asked sympathetically.

"No. I don't. I've been living on the streets for the past two years. It's why I became a thief in the first place." From behind my back I produced the memory stick. "It's why I'm going to hold onto this for insurance purposes. No tricks, no turning me into the cops."

"Give that back," Sherlock demanded, holding his hand out to me as if I were a petulant child.

I shook my head, a small smile on my face. "I think I'll keep it. You obviously can't handle having something so valuable on you if I can pick your pocket that easily. Now, I'm going to go and-"

"No," John said, getting up from his spot on the couch. "Stay here. You can sleep in my bed. I'll crash on the couch."

"No thanks."

"Delilah, it's a warm place to stay with a roof over your head and no worries about someone sneaking up on you at night. You can get a bath and tomorrow we'll head down to the shop and get you some new clothes."

"But I like these clothes," I protested. "Besides, I don't smell _that_ bad."

"That's because _you're_ used to the smell," Sherlock said with a wrinkled nose. "You can stay here for one night and that's it. I'm not having a thief under my roof."

With that, Sherlock left the room, retreating back into his room. I heard the sound of a violin floating through the flat and I looked to John. "He plays when he's upset. He's quite good. The only problem is, he likes to play at all hours."

"Great," I sighed. "Well, I suppose if you all think I stink so badly, then I should perhaps get a shower."

"You stink horribly!" Sherlock shouted and I rolled my eyes.

"Is he always this impossible?"

"Oh, you've caught him on a good day. Normally he's even more impossible than this."

"I feel so sorry for you." I gave John a sympathetic smile and he laughed.

"It's not so bad once you get used to him. I'll bring you a towel and such, leave it on the toilet for you, alright?"

"That sounds wonderful. Oh. And I don't mind sleeping on the couch. I wouldn't want to put you out of your bed." With that, I went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

Cautiously, I took the stick out of my jacket pocket and placed it on the edge of the shower. I didn't trust Sherlock as far as I could throw him, even though he had saved my life when I was having my asthma attack. I turned the water on, stripping out of my clothes. I wrinkled my nose when I caught a whiff of the odor wafting off of them. My clothes smelled like a mixture of mildew, garbage, and fish.

' _Well, you did have to leap off of a three story building into a trash bin below. And then cross the Thames so that their damnable dogs would lose your scent. And then there was that fish market.'_ I had to fight the urge to gag as I remembered the smell of the fish market.

I stepped into the hot water of the shower, letting it run over my head. Immediately, my muscles relaxed and I felt a sense of calm come over me. I scrubbed my hair with whatever shampoo and conditioner they had in the tub before I took the time to wash my body. I touched the scar on my stomach and the one on my thigh. I inspected the fresh cut to the back of my calf, wincing at it. It looked awful, but that was what happened when you got grazed by a bullet with no medical treatment. I'd be fine in a couple of days.

Finally feeling clean, I turned the water off, opening the door to find my old clothes gone, a pair of sweatpants and a jumper sitting on the sink and a towel sitting on the lid of the toilet. I dried off quickly, pulling the jumper over my head before tying my hair up in the towel. I began to exit the room when I remembered the memory stick. I grabbed it quickly, hiding it in the hole of the waistband where the drawstrings used to be.

When I entered the living room, I found John setting up the couch, spreading a blanket out over it. He looked up when he heard me come in.

"How're you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you. I truly appreciate all you have done for me. Both of you."

"It's no problem. I'm glad we've been able to help. And listen, me calling you a lunatic earlier-"

I held up my hand. "It's fine. It's in the past. I understand that it's hard for you both to trust people, especially in your line of work. I probably wouldn't be able to trust strangers very well either."

John's cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. "Yeah, well...erm, I'm going to go to bed myself. Let me know if you need anything."

"I'll be fine. Thank you again."

I watched as he left the room, waiting for his door to close before I sat down on the sofa. I touched the pillow, tears touching my eyes as I felt how soft it was. It had been so long since I'd had a proper place to sleep. I wanted to cry, but I shoved the tears away. Now wasn't the time for tears. Now was the time for rest and when the morning came, I would figure out what I was going to do from there.

I lay down on the couch, pulling the covers over my shoulders. I closed my eyes, my last thoughts being the plan that was safely tucked in the waistband of my newly acquired sweatpants and how I'd never meant to put myself into such a messy situation, especially not with someone who could predict every move I was going to make.

What had I managed to get myself into?


	2. Chapter 2: The Doctor and the Thief

***Hello lovelies! I hope you're enjoying this so far. This is my first ever Sherlock piece, so I hope I'm doing alright with it. I'm definitely enjoying writing it. I'm trying to upload at least a chapter for each of my works every day, but I won't make any promises. If you all would like to leave reviews, that would be fantastic. I appreciate it when people review my work. I hope you all have a wonderful day and a happy New Year!***

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Doctor and the Thief**

I woke the next morning to someone shaking my shoulder. I came up swinging, disoriented and confused. Someone grabbed my arm and I looked up into the brilliant blue-green eyes of Sherlock Holmes. He looked somewhat amused with the fact that I would try and swing on him.

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling a blush creeping up into my cheeks. "I didn't mean to do that. My apologies."

"I was expecting it. Now, get up. It's past ten o'clock already and we have work that we need to do." He held his hand out. "I'll be needing that memory stick."

"One second. I've got to go to the bathroom first." I disappeared into the bathroom before he could say a word. I didn't want him seeing where I hid it.

I locked the door behind me, quickly using the toilet. Once finished, I washed my hands and face, looking into the mirror. My hair was an absolute red, matted rat's nest. I sighed. It would take me an hour to do my hair. At least. Before I began to attack the mess that was my hair, I took the memory stick from the waistband of my pants. I held it in the palm of my hand, wondering how in the world such a small thing could cause me so much trouble.

"Are you going to give it to me or not?" Sherlock sighed impatiently.

I opened the door, holding it between my fingers. "You can have it, so long as you promise to give it back when John and I are leaving."

"I planned on having it all day. I was pondering it last night and I'm fairly certain that there is a message encoded into it."

"I get it back when I leave this house and that's final." I watched as John entered the room, two coffee mugs in his hand. "Good morning Mr. Watson."

"Please, call me John." Sherlock reached out to take the mug from John, but he pulled away. "You've already had a cup of tea Sherlock. This one is for our guest."

I watched as Sherlock's nose wrinkled in disgust, but he, for once, said nothing. He instead snatched the memory stick from my hand, going to his laptop and plugging it in. John and I looked at each other and then the man shrugged, handing me my cup of tea.

"I put a bit of milk in there, hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Thank you John." I glanced at Sherlock, watching him pour over the documents. "You wouldn't happen to have a hair brush would you?"

"I think Mary left one here once. I've got another pair of sweats and another jumper if you'd like to change before we head out."

"Thank you. You've been so kind to me. Well, seeing as it's," I looked around John to the clock on the wall, "nearly eleven o'clock, I should probably get dressed and brush my hair."

"I'll be back with your clothes and hopefully a hairbrush then."

"If not I'll finger comb it."

Sherlock snickered from his chair. "I doubt you could get that far with finger combing."

"I've done it before," I retorted, feeling my temper rising.

"So I saw yesterday. Your hair is a mess. I hope that John can find a hairbrush for you, although I don't know how much good that's going to do."

"Why are you being so rude?" I demanded, going to stand in front of him, clenching the mug in my hand. "I've not done a thing to you."

"You're a thief and I have no time for criminals, especially wishy-washy ones."

"What's that supposed to mean?" My voice was dangerously soft and I watched as Sherlock glanced up at me, a smirk on his face.

"It means that you aren't even a good criminal. You gain information that could make you millions and millions of dollars if sold to the right person and you instead turn it over to someone who works with the police to stop criminals. You claim to be a thief, but you seek me out. I can't understand your motive."

"What sane person wouldn't want to stop something like _that_? What kind of a person do you think I am? I mean, honestly Sherlock, you're very unkind for having only met me yesterday."

Sherlock knitted his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands, looking up at me. "Do you _really_ wish to know what kind of a person I think you are?"

"Sherlock," I heard John warn from another room. "Don't even think about it."

"I'm asking the lady, John, not you." His gaze never left my face as he stared at me. "If you'd like to know, tell me. But I recommend you sit down."

I sat down on the floor, crossing my legs in front of me, taking a sip of my tea. "Tell me then, if you're so brilliant. Tell me what kind of person you think I am."

He leaned forward, giving me a smile. "You were born in Ireland, your father Irish, your mother of English descent, hence why you moved here. No Irish man I've met would leave Ireland unless it was for a woman. You must have been fairly young, as your accent is soft, subdued. The shadows under your eyes are not only from the streets. They are from nightmares that haunt you, have probably haunted you for years and years. I know that because you were talking in your sleep for most of the night." He paused, watching my face. I knew he was searching for any sign that he was making me uncomfortable. He continued on.

"You swung on me, meaning that you have been attacked at least once in your sleep. You are well-spoken and a quick thinker, meaning that your parents sent you to a decent school and you received your education. You wear a ring around your neck -a wedding band to be precise- that you tried to keep hidden from me. But whose? A former lover? No. Judging by the absence of a tan line on your ring finger, you were never engaged. So it must be a ring you stole and came to fancy after you stole it. It would explain why you kept it instead of pawning it.

"You said that you had only become a thief a short while ago when you ended up on the streets, but your pickpocketing skills say otherwise. So, who taught you to pickpocket? Your mother? No, your father. Your father would have taught you, as you are at ease with men, even ones that are strangers to you. And given the fact that you've brought me this information instead of going to someone who could sell it for you on the streets, it means that either you're stupid or you have no loyalty to your own kind."

I kept my face calm even as I rose to my feet. "You're right about my being from Ireland and about my mother and father's origins. You're also right about my having moved here at a young age. I was about five. And I did go to a decent school, although I won't tell you which. And living on the streets, yes, I have been attacked multiple times. But everything else you're wrong about Mr. Holmes. Do a bit of research while we're out if you don't believe me."

With that, I turned away from him, going to John, who'd been standing in the doorway, watching the entire exchange. Gently, I took the hairbrush and clothes from his hands, not wanting to let him see the tears in my eyes. I went to the bathroom, closing the door softly. I locked it before pressing my back against the wall, sinking to the floor, tears streaming down my face.

God, I wanted to hit that man! Calling my father, my _father_ of all people, dishonorable was enough to warrant a thorough thrashing. Instead, I took a couple deep breaths, reminding myself that I had asked for what he thought. I had asked him to tell me what was in that stupid brain of his.

After a few minutes of crying, I collected myself. I got to my feet and began to attack the mane that was my hair. I only winced a few times as I worked the tangles out. Finally, after what seemed like ages, I'd managed to tame my hair. I looked at it in the mirror, satisfied with the smooth waves. I searched the bathroom, trying to find a hair tie.

Not able to find one, I decided to just get dressed and hope and pray that my hair wouldn't tangle up. After finally dressing, I looked at myself in the mirror, inspecting my face closely. The bags under my eyes were still prominent, no doubt from the four to five hours of broken sleep I had been getting per night for the past two years. I had wrinkles forming on my forehead and around the corners of my eyes. I looked awful if I was being honest. But then again, who would really be looking that closely at me?

' _Sherlock Holmes, that's who. He'll point out every single flaw and try to hit you where it hurts. But you mustn't let it show. You must not give him the ammunition to use against you.'_ I sighed as I tucked a soft curl behind my ear. _'You'll be out of the flat for most of the day and away from him. And John seems like a nice fellow.'_

There was a knock on that door and I jumped, startled. "Delilah, are you almost done in there?"

"Yes John. Sorry, I'll be out in a moment."

"Alright. Take your time, no hurry. Just wanted to make sure that you were alright."

I glanced up at myself in the mirror one last time before collecting the clothes from the previous night off of the floor. I walked out, finding John looking over Sherlock's shoulder. John gave me a smile as he glanced up at me. I put the clothes on the couch, before crossing over to the two of them, going to stand next to John.

"Feeling better?"

"Much. Thank you again for all of the clothes and…well, everything."

"You're welcome. Now get out." Sherlock muttered and I glared at the back of his head, but bit my tongue.

"I'm going out with Watson for a bit. When I return, I'll help you research a bit more Holmes."

"I don't need _your_ help."

"Ah, but you do. You see, the perks of being me is that I can withhold whatever information I wish, lock it away within my mind and you have no access to it." I watched as he whipped around in the chair, glaring at me. "Oh yes, I didn't tell you everything last night."

"So you lied to me? How am I supposed to stop this if you don't tell me everything I need to know?"

"Because I have to keep some things for insurance purposes." I moved around the chair to kneel in front of him, smiling at him. "That and I was too tired to try and sketch something out for you last night. Now," I snagged the memory stick out of the USB port, watching as he tried to grab my wrist to no avail, "I am going out with Watson. Think about what you've read so far and we should be back in about an hour or so, alright?"

Sherlock sighed. "I can't really research anything if you keep taking away what I need to look at."

"Use your wonderful memory then because this," I tucked it into my pocket, "is my insurance for not ending up in prison."

I turned to John, flashing him a grin. "Are you ready to go?"

John could only nod, dumbfounded that I'd even managed to pull off snagging the memory stick. I tucked the memory stick into my shoe, knowing that it wouldn't go anywhere there. We left the flat, but not before I was introduced to their landlady.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson," John said cheerfully to the older woman coming up the stairs.

"Oh hello John! How are you doing this morning? Going to work?"

"No, actually, helping Delilah out with a bit of clothes shopping."

Mrs. Hudson looked around John to see me. I gave her a small wave and a gentle smile. "Oh hello dear! I didn't know that the boys had company."

"I was only staying for the night. It was lovely to meet you Mrs. Hudson. You've got two very wonderful tenants."

"That I do. Although, as I'm sure you've noticed, Sherlock's a bit of a handful sometimes. I have to admit, I missed him while he was gone."

"I think we all did Mrs. Hudson," John said quickly. "Anyway, we're trying to miss the lunch crowd, so we'd better get moving. I'll stop by later to chat, I promise."

He pressed a kiss to the older woman's cheek and she blushed. "Alright dear. Oh and Delilah, don't be a stranger. I always love company."

We left shortly after and I kept up with John's rapid clip. "What was that all about? Missing Sherlock, what did she mean?"

"Nothing. It's a long story."

"The way I see it, we've got time." I dipped my hand into a woman's purse as we walked by her, managing to snag her wallet from it. She continued walking, not noticing a thing. "I'm always willing to listen to stories."

"Sherlock went off on a case, solo, about two years back. He didn't tell any of us and…well, we believed him dead." I could hear his voice catch in his throat. "It…it was a rough time for myself and Mrs. Hudson."

We continued our walk in silence until we reached the thrift shop four blocks up. I entered, looking around at all of the clothes. I had discreetly flipped through the woman's wallet, happy that I'd picked her as my mark. It looked like luck was on my side as she'd had nearly eighty pound. I'd thrown the wallet into a bin on our way into the shop so that John wouldn't see that I'd pickpocketed someone. I was positive he'd throw a fit about it.

I began to look for clothes immediately, knowing that I needed to get enough to last me through the winter, but not so much that I wouldn't be able to carry it around in a pack when I started moving around the city. Come Christmas time, I would be begging for money around Big Ben and Parliament. Politicians tended to be more generous around the holidays I'd found, so that their names would look a bit better in the press.

John helped me pick out a few jumpers and a few pairs of pants. I grabbed a second-hand pack, one that looked as if it had been used for backpacking by some traveler, but left behind after the journey was finished. I smiled, knowing that it was perfect for my purposes. I looked up at John as he was flipping through pink turtlenecks.

"So, how long have you and Sherlock known each other?"

"A few years now. A friend of mine introduced us one day in the morgue at Saint Bart's when I'd mentioned something about needing a roommate. I met Sherlock and I'd taken the room upstairs. For some reason, I didn't run away screaming into the night." He grinned even as his hand touched a dark pink sweater. "I probably should have. It would have saved what little sanity I have left."

I laughed, taking the sweater from him, adding it to the growing pile on my arm. "Aye, that you probably should. But you don't seem too bad after having lived with him for so long. So how long have you and he been together?"

John froze, mouth open in shock. I watched as he turned pink on his ears. Before he could retort, I said, "I'm only joking with you. I know that you're not a couple. I'm assuming the woman you mentioned before, Mary, she's your girlfriend?"

"Fiancé, actually. We were engaged last month."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Congratulations!"

"Thanks," John replied and I could tell that he was relieved I'd gotten off the topic of him and Sherlock being a couple. "Sherlock, he's probably the best friend I could ever have, even though I don't like to admit it."

I nodded. "I used to have one of those, a best friend. Now...well, you don't make many friends on the streets."

"How'd you end up there if you don't mind my asking?"

He sounded sincere in his questioning and I wondered if perhaps I should open up to him. I hesitated and he was around the clothes rack, hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to tell me if you don't like."

"It's...fine. I used to have a normal life, believe it or not. Loving family, a flat of my own. I worked at a law firm as a paralegal, researching cases and helping the lawyers prepare for trials. Then...something happened. I lost my job, my flat, everything. I ended up out on the streets and learned to pickpocket to survive."

"What happened to make you lose everything?"

I shook my head sadly. "Now's not the time nor the place to discuss such things. I hope you understand."

"I do. I'm sorry. Perhaps you'll tell me eventually," I watched as a smile bloomed on his face and he walked past me, going to greet a woman at the door with a hug. They came back to me, holding hands. "Delilah, I'd like for you to meet my fiance, Mary Morstan."

I extended my hand out to the woman, watching as she took it, giving me a firm handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Morstan. You're a lucky woman. John has been very kind since I appeared on their doorstep yesterday in distress."

"He told me all about it. I'm so sorry you've been living on the streets as long as you have." She seemed very sincere and I could see why John was in love with her. "Will you be staying with them long?"

"Yes," John said even as I said no. I looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I wanted to ask you earlier, but, while this case is going on, would you like to stay with us? It's too dangerous for you to be out on the streets."

"I, erm, I don't want to intrude. And I highly doubt Sherlock will be enthusiastic about the idea of my staying with you all."

"He'll be fine. Besides, it's as much my flat as it is his. That and Mary could probably use your company when she comes over to visit."

"I…" What choice did I have? It was a warm place to sleep and a safe one at that. "Fine. But if Sherlock raises a fit-"

"He won't."

"If he does," I continued, staring at John, "I am leaving, no questions asked and no attempts to stop me."

"Agreed." John looked at Mary. "Where did you want to go for lunch?"

"Oh, I was thinking that little cafe around the block. Would you care to join us Delilah?"

"Sure. Let me go and pay for this."

"Where'd you get money from?" John asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. "You didn't steal it, did you?"

I shook my head. "I had some from panhandling earlier in the week that I'd been saving. I took it out of my jacket pocket yesterday when I gave Sherlock the memory stick."

I felt bad lying to him, but I didn't need him to be suspicious of me. I paid for the clothes quickly, not letting John see how much I actually had. We left the shop and I had enough money to be able to get some lunch. I was very pleased with myself and, despite the dull gray sky, it was turning out to be a wonderful day.

I carried my new pack on my back, getting used to the weight as we entered the small cafe. Mary and I chatted a bit, getting to know one another. I found out that she was a nurse where John practiced medicine. She and John found out that I'd once had a dog named Sampson. That brought up the entire religion conversation and I told them that my parents were devout Catholics, but I on the other hand, hadn't stepped foot in a church since I was twenty-five.

We finished our meal after I had put my clothes into my pack and John and Mary parted ways, John promising that he'd stop by her place later that day after I got settled in. We walked back to the flat and halfway there I felt my skin crawl, as if we were being watched. I glanced around, spotting a man keeping pace with us on the other side of the street.

"John, take my pack."

"What? Why? What's wrong?"

"Just, take my pack and go back to the flat. Leave the door open for me. I'll meet you back there."

John stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, not caring that there were people giving us dirty looks. "I'm not going anywhere, not until you tell me-"

I looked to my right to see the man across the street raising a gun. I shoved John out of the way, feeling the wind from the bullet blow past my back, chipping the edge of the brick house behind me. I helped John to his feet, watching as the man began to cross the street, shoving his way through panicking people and dodging traffic.

"Go! I'll be fine. It's me he wants anyway."

John looked torn, but he nodded, running through the crowds of people. I myself ducked into the alleyway on the left, racing down it. There was a fence in the way, but I scaled it with ease, leaping over to the other side. I didn't even bother glancing back to see if he was following me; I knew he was.

I sprinted down the alley, turning right onto the next street. My pack was heavy on my back, but I ignored it. I raced down the sidewalk, knowing that I was only two blocks away from Baker Street. I could make it.

Hands shot out from another alley, grabbing me and dragging me into the gloom. I struggled, but the person's grip was strong and they were much larger than me. The man who'd been chasing me appeared at the entrance and began to approach, a grin on his face.

"Finally caught you, you little bitch."

"Let go of me!" I said, struggling, but to no avail.

"We will, once you give us the memory stick."

"I don't have it," I snarled. "I gave it to the police."

"Lies. You've still got it on you. Our people would have told us if you'd brought it."

I continued to struggle. "I'm not lying! I gave it to the police."

The man standing in front of me struck me across the face. I bit down on my tongue, tasting blood. "Do not lie to me again, Delilah, or I will have to punish you for your insolence."

"Fuck off," I growled, looking the man dead in the eyes. "I'm not giving you all shit. Haven't you taken enough from me already?"

The man punched me in the stomach, doubling me over, even as the man holding me drove his knee into the back of my calf with the healing bullet wound. I couldn't even scream from the agony. Suddenly, I felt the man holding me let go and I spun away, going to disarm the man who'd punched me in the stomach.

The first man who'd hit me took a swing and I blocked him easily, shrugging out of the pack as I moved. I grabbed his arm, placing my leg behind his even as I threw him to the ground. He fell easily and I brought my foot down onto his sternum, watching as his eyes went wide before rolling up into his skull. I gave him another kick to the side of his head to make sure he was out before I looked up at John, who'd managed to knock out his opponent as well.

"You're bleeding."

"I know," I said, picking up the pack that I'd tossed aside. "Let's get back to the flat."

"Did you know them?" John asked as we began walking at a rapid pace towards Baker Street.

"I recognize them as the men who were following me yesterday, yes. But I've never met them in my life."

"Where'd you learn those moves?"

"My father taught me when I was younger. He was a third degree black belt in taekwondo and a self-defense instructor. He always used to tell my sister and I that he wouldn't have damsels in distress for daughters." A small smile tugged at my lips. "I'm glad I had that opportunity now."

"I didn't know you have a sister."

"Had."

John stopped in his tracks to stare at me. "Had? You mean-"

"Let's get back to the flat. I need to stop my nose from bleeding."

We made it back to 221B and up the stairs we went. We opened the door, finding no one home. Good. I was glad that we'd missed Sherlock. I didn't want to deal with him, especially not looking like the mess I did now. I shrugged the pack off my shoulders, dropping it to the floor next to the couch. John was approaching me with a first aid kit and a rag in hand.

"What's that for?"

"Patch you up. Your leg's bleeding as well as your nose."

I cursed silently, taking the rag from him, pressing it to my nose. "Go ahead and take a look then. I will tell you that it's not from today."

I sat down on the couch, keeping my head tilted back, pinching the bridge of my nose. I twisted my leg to expose my calf to John. He lifted up my pant's leg, hissing at the sight.

"Jesus, it's infected. How on earth did you get this?"

"Bullet grazed me when I was running with the information. I didn't realize it until I'd bunkered down for the night, trying to hide from them and outrun their hounds that they'd set on me."

John shook his head. "You've had the worst string of luck lately, haven't you?"

"I s'pose you could say that." I lifted the rag away, noting that the bleeding was starting to slow. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"A couple of bumps and bruises from you shoving me, but it beats getting shot. Thanks for that by the way."

"Don't mention it. And thanks for coming back for me."

"Not a problem. Now, this is going to hurt a bit. I've got to get some of the pus out before I can bandage it. Try to keep as still as possible."

I did as I was told, looking around the flat. It was odd that Sherlock would have left, but perhaps he'd found another case to work on while we'd been out. I bit my lip as John gave my calf a hard squeeze. I hissed when he poured rubbing alcohol over the wound.

"Could've given me a warning."

"Sorry. I'm almost done though. Hold still. I'm going to bandage you up now. You should have gotten stitches for this."

"Don't really have the money for the hospital unfortunately." My nose had finally stopped bleeding. "Where do you think Sherlock went?"

"Don't know. Don't care really. He'll be fine. I'm all finished now, but you need to take it easy on that leg."

I chuckled. "You really think that _they're_ going to let me take it easy?"

"I doubt it, but that's the doctor in me telling you what you should be doing." He got to his feet. "I'll take that rag."

I handed it to him, sitting on the couch, inspecting my calf. He'd bandaged it nicely and while it was still aching, it wasn't as bad as it had been that morning. I touched the memory stick, still stuck in the side of my shoe. Glancing around the room, I noticed that Sherlock's laptop was sitting open on the coffee table. How odd.

Getting up, I limped over, tapping the mouse pad. The computer whirred to life and I looked at the document on the screen. John came back into the room and I could feel him tensing up next to me as he read over my shoulder.

"Go and change your clothes. We've got to go."

"Where are we going?"

"To save Sherlock from his own stupidity."

I sighed. "Alright, but where are we going?"

"The pub."

"He doesn't say anything about a pub. He says something about going to the loo."

John looked embarrassed before answering me. "It's what he calls the pub. He...thinks that people who go there are dull and uninteresting and are much like bowel movements."

"So, he thinks people who go are pieces of uncultured shit."

John's jaw practically dropped to the floor and, flustered, he said, "Yes, th-that's pretty much what he said. I was only trying to be-"

"Polite, I know. And normally I would have allowed you to be, but we don't have time for that. I'll go and get changed." I spotted a rubber band on the coffee table and I grabbed it. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't leave without me."

"Don't worry, I'm not. I've got to grab my gun anyway."

"That's probably a good idea."

I grabbed the outfit on the top of the pack. It was a pair of jeans, the pink sweater that John had helped me pick out, and a newer pair of black trainers. They'd looked as if they'd only been worn a few times and they'd been my size fortunately. I went to the bathroom, changing quickly, tying my hair up into a high ponytail.

When I exited, I found John checking the chamber of his pistol. I gave him a smile and a thumbs up, but he only stared at me with flat eyes. "Sorry, was trying to cheer the mood up a bit."

"Have you got the stick?"

"Aye. It's tucked in my shoe, as I did when we went out earlier." To prove my point, I pulled it out, holding it up to him. "Why do you ask?"

"We might need it to bargain with."

"You think Sherlock managed to get himself into trouble."

"I don't think, I _know_. He's not one to keep his mouth shut as you've seen."

"You wouldn't happen to have another gun that I could use, would you?"

John raised an eyebrow at me. "No. I don't. Do you even know how to use one?"

I held out a hand to John and he handed me the butt of his pistol. Quickly, I released the magazine, emptied the chamber, and handed it back to him. "If you'd like a demonstration on my accuracy, I can do that as well. But I'd rather not frighten Mrs. Hudson."

"Who in the bloody hell are you?" He asked incredulously, picking up the magazine from the floor. "Seriously, I've never known a paralegal to be proficient with a firearm before."

I shook my head. "Again, not the time and place. We've got a consulting detective to go and find." When he didn't come with me, I sighed. "I'll tell you when we get back. Right now, you're right, Sherlock's in danger and we don't have a lot of time."

John rolled his eyes, tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that when we get back."

We left the flat, on the hunt for one Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3: My Confessions

***Sorry this has taken so long lovelies! I was a bit busy with New Year's stuff yesterday and didn't have enough time to write. Then today, I kind of got sucked into Fable III (oops!) and I've been procrastinating a bit. Also, still reeling from having to write the newest chapter for Neighbors and Demons, my Supernatural fanfic. That was probably one of the hardest things for me to write. If you haven't checked it out and are a fan of Supernatural, you definitely should! As always, reviews are wonderful and I really hope that you're enjoying what I've written so far. Have a wonderful day!***

* * *

 **Chapter 3: My Confessions**

My eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light of the pub. I scanned the area, spotting Sherlock in the back corner, brooding over a drink. I nudged John's arm, nodding to where Sherlock was sitting. We walked over and he looked up at us, a look of indifference on his face.

"You finally showed up. Did you have fun shopping the day away?"

"You could say that," John muttered. "We were attacked, Sherlock."

The detective shrugged. "I'm not surprised. Carrying around that information on you when they know your face is foolish. I mean, it's not like we're in Ireland where there's a hundred gingers you can blend in with."

I glared at him. "Even if I _hadn't_ had the information on me, I still would have been attacked. And if I had left it with you, you would have been outnumbered two to one."

"You'll learn quickly that I can handle myself. Now, why are you two still talking to me? I'm on the trail of someone."

"Because you're in way over your head and we're here to back you up," John replied through gritted teeth. "Don't be stubborn."

"You're blowing my cover, both of you. I'm the most conspicuous person in this hellhole now."

"You were conspicuous sitting over here alone, not touching your drink," I replied. "You really need to work on your disguises."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, eyes narrowing. "And you can do better?"

"Who's your mark? I bet you I can get within five feet of him without raising his suspicions."

"Come on you two, this isn't a game. Did we forget that these people have guns and are willing to kill us?" John was trying to act as a voice of reason, but neither Sherlock nor I were hearing it.

"Man at the bar, red polo, tan slacks, gold watch on his left wrist. No wedding band. I realized that he was supposed to meet someone here by a message encoded in that file of yours. His codename is F. Aling. There are multiple messages between him and others, but this was the soonest appointment to meet with the one they call L."

I looked up, scanning the bar, spotting the man standing by himself, looking nervous. "Do you think that he knows who L is?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Judging by how nervous he is, I doubt it. Now, are you going to prove my point that you're blowing my cover?"

I couldn't help but flash him a grin. "Watch me."

I sashayed up to the bar, pulling my hair down out of its ponytail as I did. I flipped it over my shoulder, stepping up to the bar. "Two whiskies, neat. One for me and one for the gentleman down in the red polo."

The bartender nodded, grabbing a bottle from behind him off the shelf. "This alright for ya?"

"Perfect." I flashed him a smile.

"What's the name on the tab?"

I saw out of the corner of my eye that the man in the red polo had turned to look at me with interest. "Put it under Elle, please."

The bartender nodded once more, pouring the drinks. The man in red had moved down the bar towards me, taking the glass. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you Mr. Aling." I watched as his eyes widened. "Have you brought what I asked you to?"

He threw back the whisky before looking at me. "I have. Have you brought me the information?"

"My business partners in the back booth have it. Think of it as protection from you doing something stupid."

"And what makes you think that I would?"

"Because I have dealt with people like you for a very long time." I dropped my voice. "Now, do you have what I'm looking for?"

Internally, I was shaking, unsure of what I was doing. This was way over my head. I was only doing this based off of the stories that my father used to tell me. I couldn't let on that I was nervous even as the man reached into his pocket, pulling out a small vial full of clear liquid.

"Osculum mortis, or as you would know it, Kiss of Death. I have managed to invent a way to put any virus or bacteria into a live liquid form. Meaning that if I slipped this liquid into, say, a drink or turned it into a vapor, you would catch whatever disease was in the cocktail."

He shoved the vial into my face and I recoiled. "This right here, is a mixture of bubonic plague, ebola, and measles. I've got many many more in the lab that we're working on making. All you have to do is give me the information and I will be able to make the machine that can turn this into a gaseous form. That way our employer will be happy with both of us."

"And if I don't give it to you?" I asked softly.

The man gave me a strange smile, placing the vial back inside of his pocket. As he did so, I realized that his other hand had been grabbing the gun on his hip, pointing it at my mid-section. "Well then, I suppose our little transaction is over with. I know exactly who you are, Delilah McKinley and I know what you're trying to do. Do you really think that we would continue to keep the appointment with you in possession of the information?"

There was a crash behind me and Mr. Aling's attention was distracted for a split second. I used that moment to disarm him, taking his gun and shoving him backwards into the barstools with my shoulder. As I did so, my other hand was dipping into the pocket, finding the vial. I turned, dashing towards the back of the bar, tucking the gun in the waistband of my pants and the vial in my pocket. As I did, Sherlock and John were following behind me.

The three of us sprinted through the kitchen. I could hear the man's curses behind us. I looked around, spotting a kitchen knife on the counter as we ran by. I grabbed it, turning to look over my shoulder, throwing it. I heard a cry of pain and the three of us burst out into the alley behind the bar.

"Where to?" I asked, looking around wildly. "You all know your way around better than I do."

"Right," Sherlock said, taking off. "And you have a lot of explaining to do."

"Yes you do," John panted out.

"So I'm learning," I mumbled. "Let's just get back to the flat in one piece."

Once we'd made it to the crowds of people on the sidewalk, we tried to blend in. I snagged a hat from the pocket of someone walking. I could hear the shouts of protest after we were half a block away. I pulled my hair up, tucking it under the hat, hiding it as best I could. That hair was a beacon to the enemies and it was starting to become a nuisance. John shot me a dirty look, but I ignored it. I had to do what was necessary in order for us to survive.

We arrived at the flat and Sherlock let us back in. Mrs. Hudson was coming down the stairs, a look of surprise on her face when she saw the three of us.

"Sherlock! But, I thought you were upstairs!"

"What do you mean?" He questioned and I could hear his tone change. "Mrs. Hudson, get to your room and call the police. Now."

Mrs. Hudson's face went pale and she descended the stairs quickly, scurrying back to her flat. All three of us drew guns, going up the stairs quietly. Sherlock stood in front of the door, I took the right, and John took the left.

"If anyone is in there, I suggest you come out with your hands up. We are all armed and we will not hesitate to shoot." There was no answer to Sherlock's request. "I have given you fair warning. We are coming in and will shoot to kill."

He threw the door open, stepping in. I stepped in behind him, checking on the right. The living room was absolutely trashed, the furniture thrown around, papers scattered all across the room. My pack had been torn apart. I turned as the lights flicked on behind me. I saw John standing by the switch, pressing a finger to his lips even as he cleared the kitchen. I realized that Sherlock had gone to clear his room and the rest of the flat. I took the bathroom, finding nothing there.

"All clear!" I shouted, tucking the gun back into the waistband of my pants.

"All clear!" The other two shouted.

We regrouped in the living room and I could see the frown on Sherlock and John's faces as they looked at the mess. I knew it had to be rough for them to see the damage that had been done. The wail of sirens could be heard through the open window and I sighed, knowing that I'd have to hide the gun. It was, after all, an illegally acquired weapon.

I had managed to hide it under the sink in the kitchen when I heard the knock on the front door. Mrs. Hudson's voice was shaky as she let the officers into the flat. They came up the stairs and I decided to make myself scarce, not wanting to be seen by any of them. I left the room, giving Sherlock a small nod downstairs, indicating that that's where I was headed.

I took the hat off as I did so, knowing that it made me look a bit suspicious. Mrs. Hudson was visibly shaken as she spoke to the police. I waited until they were done to approach her. "Are you alright Mrs. Hudson?"

She let out a chuckle. "No, dear, unfortunately I'm not. I should be used to it by this point with Sherlock living here, but…knowing that this place isn't safe…"

I could tell that she was upset and I took her arm. "I'll make you a nice cup of tea and we'll speak of other things if it will help you. You don't need this stress."

The older woman nodded and I felt bad for her as I watched the tears slip silently down her face. I turned the light on for her as we entered her own flat. It was a similar layout to Sherlock and John's, so the kitchen was easy to find. I sat her down at the small table Wordlessly, I looked through the drawers, finding a rag. I handed it to her, watching as she wiped at her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to cry. This is all so overwhelming."

"It's fine," I replied, filling the kettle before putting it onto the cooker. "It's a natural reaction. I wouldn't expect anything less."

"You're a very sweet girl. What was your name again dear?"

"Delilah."

"Delilah. I don't suppose that your parents were big churchgoers?"

"Actually they were," I said, turning to give her a gentle smile, sitting at the table across from her. "My parents took my sister and I every Sunday."

"I used to attend in my younger years. But time does change things. So, how do you know Sherlock and John? They're lovely boys aren't they?"

"Yes, very lovely. They've been so kind to me. I was actually having an asthma attack outside of the flat yesterday and Sherlock happened to spot me. He had an inhaler and allowed me to use it. When they found out that I was homeless-"

"Homeless! How awful!"

I nodded. "Yes, it has been. But when they found out that I was homeless and that I was still sick, they allowed me to spend the night with them, wash my clothes, clean myself up."

"Well, will you be staying for long or was it only for the night?"

"John offered to let me stay for a little longer, although with the apartment getting ransacked, I don't know if I should." I rose when the kettle began to whistle. "Are you feeling any better?"

"A little bit. Chatting with you has helped take my mind off of things."

"Well, I'm glad of that." I poured a bit of water into the tea pot that she had sitting on the counter, swirling it around to warm it. "Do you use tea bags or loose leaf?"

"Tea bags, dear. Cabinet behind you next to the cooker. And the milk is in the fridge and the mugs are in the cabinet to your right."

I nodded, grabbing everything I needed. I placed the tea bags in the pot before pouring the hot water over it. I glanced up at the clock, seeing that it was nearly seven o'clock. Where on earth had the day gone?

I prepared the tea, hearing Sherlock speaking to the officers. I could only imagine how that was going. I poured the milk into both mugs before pouring the tea. As I sat down, a knock came at the door, causing both Mrs. Hudson and I to jump.

"Who is it?" My voice was rough and I could hear the fear in it.

"It's me, Delilah. Can you open the door please?"

I opened the door to see John, noting the two police officers flanking him. "Are you here to watch over Mrs. Hudson while I speak to these two gentlemen?"

"Yes, Delilah. They have a few questions for you. They want to know about what we've found."

I stepped out into the hallway, looking up at the two officers. "Well, why don't we go down the hall a bit and talk? I don't want to disturb the landlady any more than we have to."

John disappeared into Mrs. Hudson's flat, closing the door even as the two officers and I walked towards the front door. They both had notepads out and were looking at me with what seemed to be apprehension.

"Can you tell us what happened today?" The one on the right asked, pen poised to take down every word I said.

"Well, I woke up this morning, got ready, and then Dr. Watson and I went to the thrift store to get some clothes for me to wear. We had lunch with his fiancé, Mary, and then-"

"We meant down at the pub. Dr. Watson told us that you all were attacked and held at gunpoint before you managed to escape." The one on the left was now asking. I could tell that he was a bit impatient, but I would take my time.

"Ah, yes. Well, I was going to get to that portion of the story. But, let's skip ahead a bit, shall we? Sherlock, John, and I are working on a case and we were meeting with the informant. I went to go speak with the man and he pulled a gun on me."

"And what about the vial?"

I sighed. "Are you going to continuously interrupt me?"

The officer blushed. "Sorry mum. But it's a matter of utmost importance."

"I'm certain that it is. I lost the vial in the streets on the run."

The two police officers' eyes widened with shock. The one on the right managed to choke out, "You lost it?"

"Aye, I lost it. We _were_ being chased if you'll remember."

"We…erm, we'll be back. Don't go anywhere."

The two men took the stairs two at a time and I sighed, leaning up against the wall. I listened as they spoke to the other men upstairs and five officers came back down. The two I had been speaking with stopped in front of me.

"What did you say your name was mum?"

"Delilah. Delilah McKinley."

They both nodded and one of them scribbled it down in their notebook. "Will you be staying here for a while Mrs. McKinley?"

"Ms. And I suppose I will be if you'll need to question me further."

"More than likely Ms. McKinley. If you have any more information that you can give us, you can stop by the station. Ask for either Officer Lyonel or Officer Sullivan," the one who had been jotting down everything said. "We'll be in touch."

I nodded my head, watching as they left. I saw the door to Mrs. Hudson's open and John stepped out, closing it behind him. "Are they gone?"

"Aye, they're gone." I looked up the stairs. "Sherlock is fairly quiet. Come, let's go upstairs. I owe you all some explanations I believe."

We both went up the stairs, finding Sherlock meditating amongst the papers and overturned furniture. John pressed a finger to his lips and I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. John began to quietly return the room back to its former self as I went to the kitchen to fetch the gun. I dug around underneath the sink, finally coming up with the handgun and the magazine.

"So, where did you hide it?"

I jerked upwards, cracking my head on the cabinet above me. I cursed before turning to see Sherlock standing behind me. "What makes you so certain that I hid it?"

"Because I know that you didn't lose it."

"You were eavesdropping?"

"Well, you were talking very loud and the door was open. So, yes, I was eavesdropping."

I frowned, realizing that having Sherlock around meant that I couldn't keep anything secret. "Yes, I hid it. Help me put the living room back together and then I'll explain everything."

By the time the three of us had finally put everything back, it was nearly nine-thirty. I sat down on the couch, tired, but content. The door was locked and all the windows had been double checked. John and Sherlock both still had their firearms on them. For the moment I felt safe. John sat down in the chair and, to my surprise, Sherlock sat next to me on the couch.

"Now, Ms. Delilah McKinley, you have a lot to explain," Sherlock said. "Let's start with where the vial and the memory stick are hidden."

Without a word, I pulled the gun from the waistband of my pants and the magazine from my pocket. I pulled the slide back, revealing the vial. I dropped it into my hand, careful not to let it fall to the floor. Gently I placed it on the couch between Sherlock and I. Then I unloaded two bullets from the gun before I let the memory stick drop into my hand. I held it up to both Sherlock and John. John looked shocked at how I'd hidden the two items, but Sherlock looked fairly pleased.

"Not bad. And you hid the weapon as well. They searched the entire flat for those items once John opened his mouth about them."

"I was pretty sure that they would. I also knew that if I told them that I'd dropped it, it would keep them out of our hair for at least a few days, enough time to look over the information and have the fluid analyzed."

"W-what…what exactly is in that vial?" John asked. "I'm pretty positive it's nothing nice."

"Oh, it's not. I believe Mr. Aling said that it was a mixture of Ebola, measles, and bubonic plague."

"Impossible."

"Unfortunately not, John," Sherlock replied. "Somehow, they've found a way to suspend the live viruses and bacteria in fluid long enough to unleash them into the public. I've no doubt that they could leave it in liquid form or-"

"Vaporize it into the air. That's what we have the plans for right now on the memory stick. It explains why they want it back so badly. They had several people working on it, one of which is dead."

"How do you know all of this?" John asked. "Be honest with us now. No more lies, no more tricks."

I looked at Sherlock. "Have you done any research yet?"

Sherlock shook his head. "As soon as I found out that there was a meeting set, I left. But I have a feeling that if I typed in your name I would find a lot of information."

"I suppose I'll start at the beginning then. My father's name was Kyle McKinley. He grew up in Ireland and met my mother when she was on holiday. They were nineteen and seventeen respectively. They kept in contact and after four years, my father asked my mother to marry her. She moved to Ireland to be with him and they had a very small wedding." I stopped, twirling the memory stick in my fingers. "In 1983, I was born. Two years after that, my younger sister, Olivia, was born. We stayed in Ireland until I was six years old. That's when my father got a job with the London police department."

"My mother had been homesick, you see, and her father was very ill. My father had been a detective in Ireland since he was twenty-one. So the move from Dublin to London wasn't too much of a leap to make. He was hired on as a homicide detective, given his record with cases in Ireland. I rarely saw my father growing up, and when I did, it was to train in tae kwon do or in guns. My father didn't want any of his girls to be helpless. It was a happy time though. I loved the time I had with him."

"Had?" John asked and I smiled sadly.

"I'm getting to that portion of the story." I glanced at Sherlock. "Any questions so far?"

"No. Please continue."

I nodded. "Well, when America was attacked by terrorists in 2001, my father became part of a special unit with the British government that was focused on taking out terrorists, both homegrown and overseas. He was gone a lot, but when he would come home, he would tell my sister and I stories. I was eighteen, in university, but I didn't know what I wanted to pursue at that time. When my father would tell me stories, I realized I wanted to pursue a career in law enforcement. I came close, instead becoming a paralegal for one of the biggest law firms in London. My father was so proud when I graduated and my sister was the one who began pursuing a career in my father's footsteps."

"What about your mother?" John questioned.

"After she'd had my sister, her father had taken ill. When he passed away, she fell into a deep depression and began to drink. My father and I both tried to get her help, but she was too far gone by the time my father saw the signs. So my father divorced her when I was fifteen and raised my sister and I on his own." I looked down at my hands, taking a deep breath. "December 7th, 2009. I was asleep. I'd been worried about my father, as he'd been undercover for nearly five months and I hadn't heard from him. I hadn't known that he'd come to take Olivia and I away as his cover had been blown. He'd gotten my sister and was on his way to me when they found him." I felt the tears stinging my eyes, the lump forming in my throat. "They…shot him in cold blood, right between the eyes. They dragged my sister out of the car and poured gasoline on her before setting her alight. I lost my closest family members that night and nearly lost my own life."

I fought back the tears, clenching my fists in my lap. I could see it all from the third floor flat I had been renting. I hadn't known at that time that it was my father and sister. I hadn't found out until the police had come to my hospital room after I'd woken up. I touched the scar on my stomach, feeling the phantom pain from the old gunshot wound.

"I hadn't realized that they'd sent someone after me to kill me, not until they'd placed the gun to my stomach and pulled the trigger. My neighbor downstairs heard the commotion and she came up to check on me. She found me bleeding out on my living room floor. Four days later I woke in the hospital to be told that my sister and father had been murdered. That's when the proposition was made that I finish what my father had started. That I track down the terrorists that were going to bring London to its knees."

"So, that's what you've been doing? Tracking them down, helping the police?" John was practically sitting on the edge of his seat. "You aren't homeless?"

I sighed, glancing at the clock, seeing that it was nearly eleven thirty. "I am tired and that is a story for another night. I'd really like to get some sleep if that's alright with the both of you. We can look at the documents in the morning. Perhaps we can even take this vial and get someone to test the samples, so long as they don't mind working with some of the deadliest diseases in the world."

"I've got to go to work tomorrow. I've got loads of appointments," John replied. "But when I get home, we'll continue this conversation."

"That's fine. I know that you both must have many questions for me."

"Yes, that we do," Sherlock said. "Might I see the memory stick? I wish to study it while you're sleeping."

"You know that you need to rest at some point as well, Sherlock."

"I cannot be bothered with sleep when all of London is at stake." I handed him the memory stick, watching as he rose from the couch. "I bid you all a good night and I will see you in the morning Delilah."

With that, he left the room. John and I sat in awkward silence until he too got up from his chair. "Well, I'm off to bed as well. Will you be alright out here in the living room? I know it probably doesn't feel as safe as, say, one of our bedrooms."

I popped the loaded magazine back into the pistol. "I'm fine so long as I have this. I'm…sorry that I lied to you both. I don't have much choice though when I first meet new people. I don't know how well they'll take it or if I can even trust them."

"Given the circumstances, I understand. I can't speak for Sherlock, but hopefully he'll be a bit less…harsh about you and your checkered past." John approached me, kneeling down in front of me. "We'll do everything in our power to help you. But from here on out, you have to be honest with us. Can you promise me that?"

I nodded, feeling the tears touch my eyes, my lower lip trembling. "I…I promise…"

I began to cry and John pulled me into an embrace. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face into his shoulder. "I…I miss them so much…I want my family back…I want my life back…"

"I won't say that I know what you're going through," he murmured in my ear, rubbing my back, trying to soothe me, "but I promise you that things will get better and we will get these horrible people. With Sherlock on the case, we will always get the bad guys. You have to trust me on that. Now, no more tears. We're all going to bed and we'll see each other bright and early for tea."

I wiped my eyes, giving John a watery smile. "If you say so John. You are one of the kindest souls I've ever met."

He blushed, getting to his feet. "See you in the morning Delilah."

John turned the light off on his way out and I laid down on the couch, placing the handgun next to me on the floor within easy reach. I buried my face into the pillow and, for the first time in four years, cried about losing my father and sister.

But soon…soon, I would have my revenge on the bastards who took them from me.


	4. Chapter 4: A Day With Sherlock

***Sorry for the delay. This week isn't a good one for me on a personal level, but I'm still plugging along with the stories. I hope everyone is enjoying them. Please feel free to leave feedback. Things are going to start picking up shortly between Delilah and Sherlock. I should be posting the next chapter by the end of the week. Have a good rest of the week lovelies!***

* * *

 **A Day With Sherlock**

 _"What do you mean they're dead?" My voice was soft and I was doing my best to control my emotions, but the machines I was hooked up to told a different story. Their beeping had grown shriller and more rapid. "I spoke to Olivia yesterday afternoon!"_

 _"No," Agent Tomlin said sadly. "You spoke with Olivia almost five days ago. You've been unconscious since you were shot."_

 _I felt the tears of anger stinging my eyes. "No, you're lying! Both of you! Get out!"_

 _"Delilah, listen to us. Your father was onto something, something much larger than anything we've ever faced before. He was high in their ranks when his cover was blown. He was coming to collect both you and your sister, take you back to Ireland." The other agent, Agent Cormack, stated doing his best to keep me calm. "Can you remember anything from that night?"_

 _"Well…I woke up and it was late. I hadn't been sleeping very well for some reason. I got up to go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea when I heard what sounded like a gunshot. I went into my living room to look out the window. I saw flames and heard someone screaming two streets over…I thought it was the beginnings of a car fire, or maybe even a house fire. But…what you both are telling me is that my father was shot and my sister was burned alive?" I shook my head, leaning back against the pillow. "It can't be."_

 _"Unfortunately, it is. Delilah, we have a proposition for you. We know that you're not feeling your best yet, but we wanted to give you time to think on it while you recover. If you wouldn't mind considering it, that is," Agent Tomlin sat down on the edge of the bed. "You have to know how much all of us loved working with your father. He was a good and honorable man."_

 _"I know that. What's this proposition of yours?"_

 _"We want to take you into the program, train you up enough to send you out in the field. Then we'll send you in to take your father's place. You can get revenge for your father and sister. You've nothing left to lose, right?"_

 _I looked between Agent Tomlin and Agent Cormack. "I don't. But what if I don't want revenge? What if I want to disappear, cover my tracks, go home to Ireland and to my aunt and uncle?"_

 _"Well, you can do that. But that's an awfully large hospital bill for you to be paying on your own. And that might be something that the government would be willing to cover. What do you say Delilah? Come join us, make your old man proud." Agent Cormack grinned at me and I felt a shudder run down my spine._

 _"I can't believe I'm considering this…but if it's for Olivia and Dad, I'll do it."_

"I'll do it."

"What was that?"

I jerked upright, grabbing for the gun by the couch, finding the space empty. I cursed as I looked at Sherlock, holding the gun loosely in his hand. "John thought that I should let you sleep this morning. But we have much work that needs to be done and very little time to do it in." He handed my gun back to me. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as I could I suppose," I mumbled, swinging my legs off the couch, standing up and stretching. "What time is it?"

"Quarter past eight. John made you a cup of tea on his way out. It should still be in the kitchen, although I doubt it's warm."

I folded the blankets, placing them on the back of the couch. I looked over my shoulder to see the vial still sitting on the coffee table where I'd placed it last night. I placed my gun next to it before I turned to Sherlock. "I…know we got off on the wrong foot, but I want to apologize."

Sherlock looked up at me, blinking a few times before saying, "Apologize for what?"

"For having to keep so many secrets."

"The way I see it, you are still a thief, even if you do work for the government. Which I'm still not sure of. I haven't had a chance to speak with Mycroft yet. I also haven't been able to check and see if the things you said were true or not. For all I know, you could be pulling mine and John's legs to get a place to stay and food in your stomach."

I felt my temper rising in my cheeks. "How dare you! I open up my heart and soul to you both and you throw it in my face. You're impossible!"

"Not impossible. Merely looking out for myself and John. Until I have hard, concrete evidence that you are on our side, I will believe you to be on the side of the criminals." Sherlock sat down on the couch, setting up his laptop. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to be looking over the documents. We'll be going to drop off the vial to Molly around ten thirty, so if you don't mind getting ready, I would appreciate it."

I bit my tongue to keep myself from shouting obscenities at the obstinate man. I couldn't understand how in the world John could tolerate such a toxic gentleman. Instead, I grabbed a handful of clothes from my pack and stormed to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, resting my head against the door. I could hear Sherlock typing away on the computer.

I set my clothes on the toilet before noticing the note taped to the mirror. I pulled it down, smiling as I read it. John had left me bandages, gauze, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in the cabinet under the sink. I found it easily, setting it out so that I could clean my leg after I was done showering.

I undressed, turning the water on. I'd found out yesterday that the water took a while to warm up. As it did, I sat down on the edge of the tub, untying the gauze from around my leg. I winced at the sight. The gauze pad was covered in a greenish-yellow pus, the wound red and swollen. I'd have to ask John about antibiotics before I started feeling ill.

I stepped into the shower, dunking my head under the hot water. I watched the blood and pus circle the drain and I closed my eyes, feeling a slight wave of nausea wash over me. I could deal with other people's blood, but when it came down to my own, it made me feel ill.

Sherlock knocked on the door. "What in the world is taking you so long in there?"

I sighed, pulling back the curtain. "Sherlock. I am showering and we have two hours before we must meet your friend Molly. Let me have a moment's peace. Please."

He huffed, but I heard him walk away. I chalked this up as a small victory, but I felt that any victory was well-earned when it came to Sherlock. I washed my hair and my leg well before turning the water off. The towel was draped on the rack and I wrapped myself in it before sitting on the edge of the tub once more. I didn't want to look at my leg wound, but I knew that I had to if I was going to get it clean.

I retched. I couldn't help it. The sight was awful. I needed to do this though, as I couldn't walk around with it uncovered and I couldn't go without cleaning it. But I also knew that I wouldn't be able to handle cleaning it without getting sick, or worse, fainting. I bit my bottom lip before limping over to the bathroom door, unlocking it.

"Sherlock," I called, hearing nothing. "Sherlock, could you come here please?"

It was quiet as a graveyard in the flat and as I was getting ready to step out of the bathroom, his head popped around the corner. I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Jesus, Sherlock, you could have at least warned me where you were!"

"What do you want? Are you finally done with the bathroom?"

"I, erm, well this is a bit embarrassing, but I need help with cleaning my leg."

"Cleaning your leg?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "What do I look like, a nurse?"

"Never mind, I'll do it myself. Don't know why I even bothered to ask you." I went to close the door when Sherlock's hand stopped it. "What are you doing Sherlock?"

"Will it get you out of the flat sooner if I help you?"

I nodded. "I can't dress until the wound is cleaned."

The consulting detective sighed. "Fine. But this is the only time I'm doing this, understand?"

I opened the door, slightly relieved that he would help me. "Well, where would you like me to sit?"

"Edge of the tub. Do you have all the- ah, I see now. So this is what John was putting under the sink this morning. Well then, let's take a look, shall we?"

I sat down on the edge of the tub, turning my back to Sherlock as he sat down next to me. I twisted my leg so he could see the wound. Without warning, he used his fingers to open the wound, pouring the rubbing alcohol directly into it. I let out a howl of pain.

"How did you get this?" Sherlock questioned as I fought back tears.

"I was running from those gentleman whose briefcase this was. Managed to leap off of a roof, but the bullet grazed my calf as I leapt. I landed in a trash bin and ended up having to swim across the Thames to escape them and their dogs. More than likely, that's the reason why it's so infected."

Sherlock said nothing, only cleaning the wound again. This time I only whimpered, my hands clenched into fists. "Are you going to do that again?"

"No. But the wound is filled with pus. I'll call John, tell him that you need antibiotics. I'm surprised you can still walk."

"Well, when you get shot in the abdomen, all other pain tends to be mild to moderate," I replied, turning to see Sherlock wiping at the wound with a rag. "Sorry I needed help to do this. I've never been good with my own blood. Other people it's no problem, but my own and I feel queasy."

"Yes, well, as I said, this is the only time that I'm doing this for you." He began to wrap it. "I couldn't help but notice the scar on your inner thigh when you were standing in front of me and the towel shifted. How did you get that?"

I felt the blood rush to my face as I realized that Sherlock had seen much more than I had intended. He paused in his bandaging. "Well? Are you going to tell me or are you going to be embarrassed that you showed me your skin?"

"Why should I? You won't believe me anyway."

"Curiosity."

"Is that your answer for why you do everything?"

"My job requires that I be curious. If I don't want to investigate, to learn, to delve into someone's life and learn the how's and why's, then I am a very bad detective. And with you, you're new. You're something that I haven't seen, something that I haven't studied." I felt Sherlock tie the bandaging on. "You're all bandaged. Now, do you wish to tell me or should I go back to the documents?"

"I need to get dressed. I'll be ready in half an hour, then we'll head out."

I turned to look at Sherlock, surprised to see his eyes bright with curiosity. "I'll get the information out of you Delilah, one way or another."

He rose, exiting the bathroom. I also got to my feet, testing the weight on my leg, finding that the pain was there, but not unbearable. I quickly slipped into the black jeans and my bra before looking at myself in the mirror. I'd have to do something to hide my hair that was certain. I brushed it quickly, tying it up into a messy bun. I remembered the knit cap that I'd swiped yesterday. With that and the jacket I'd bought, I'd be able to disguise myself pretty decently on the streets.

I pulled the dark blue long-sleeved polo over my head before exiting the bathroom. Sherlock was still reading the documents when I entered the living room. He didn't even bother looking up at me as I shrugged into the jacket and tucked my hair under the cap. I tugged my trainers onto my feet, tying them quickly.

"Are you ready yet?" He asked me and I rolled my eyes, shaking my head.

"No, not at all. Thought I'd put my trainers on for no reason."

"No need to be snippy, I was only asking you a question. Rudeness doesn't look good on you."

I raised my eyebrow at him. "Since when do you care what looks good on me?"

"When I realized that I would be spending an entire day with you. At least try to look presentable."

"I'm not going to make myself stand out in public. Sorry I can't be more accommodating to your requests." I rose to my feet, careful not to put too much weight on my leg. "Are you ready?"

"I suppose if you're going to insist on looking like that."

"Not everyone can afford to be as stylish as you, Sherlock. _Some_ of us would be shot with no questions asked in the middle of a street if they were spotted."

Sherlock didn't say a word and I grabbed the vial as he grabbed the memory stick. I tucked the vial into my shoe and the gun into the waistband of my jeans once more, making sure that the safety was on. The last thing I needed was to be shot in the ass. I covered it with my jacket and headed for the door. Sherlock followed close behind, locking it.

"Mrs. Hudson, we are leaving!" Sherlock called down the hall and Mrs. Hudson poked her head out.

"Will you both be back in time for tea?"

"Probably not Mrs. Hudson. If you hear anything strange upstairs, please call the police. And then call myself and John obviously."

"Alright dear. You and Delilah have a lovely time on your date. You both make a lovely couple." She closed the door before either of us could retort.

I only shook my head, leaving the house. I went to the curb, throwing my hand out for a cab. I managed to flag one down as Sherlock stepped next to me. The ride to Saint Bart's was quiet. The only reason I knew that that was where we were headed was because I'd actually paid attention when Sherlock spoke to the cab driver.

When we arrived, I followed Sherlock, limping behind him. We made it down to the morgue where I found a pretty woman in a lab coat standing at a computer screen. We both entered and she turned, a look of surprise on her face.

"Sherlock! I'm shocked to see you here. Have you come for a visit?" Her gaze turned to me and I immediately saw the suspicion and hurt in her eyes. "Oh? Who's this?"

"I'm Delilah. Delilah McKinley."

Her brown eyes lit up with recognition at my last name. "Wasn't your father Kyle McKinley?"

I froze. "How do you know my father?"

"I did the autopsy on his body. One day he was in my morgue, the next, poof, gone. It was as if someone didn't want me to look at the body." Molly seemed to realize that I was upset. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"You know who her father is?" Sherlock asked. I could hear the incredulity in his tone.

"Of course. He was one of the best undercover agents that England had in regard to terrorism. Who would have thought that an Irishman would be able to foil the plot to blow up Big Ben all on his own? A little hair dye didn't hurt anything of course."

My head was reeling and I could feel my legs wobbling underneath me. My father had saved London like that? And I hadn't ever known? "I…I need to sit down."

Sherlock grabbed a chair, placing it behind me. As he did so, he was leaning down, removing the vial from my shoe. I placed my head in my hands, focusing on my breathing, trying to get myself to calm down. But how could I when my mind was racing a mile a minute? My father, saving all of those people. He'd told my sister Olivia and I about missions, but nothing about saving a historic monument. And the agency had told me that his body had been cremated. Then again, it wasn't surprising given how things had happened.

My head was spinning and I felt that familiar tightness in my chest. A hand appeared in front of my face, a red inhaler with a white cap on it. I took it, looking up at Sherlock gratefully before taking a dose of the medicine, feeling the tightness dissipate.

"I need you to stay conscious long enough to tell Molly what exactly it is that we found, as you were the one to talk to Mr. Alling last night."

"First off, be careful with that vial," I warned. "Secondly, that vial is very important and there will more than likely be people searching for it, although they'll be looking in the wrong place so long as we weren't followed. Thirdly, that vial contains bubonic plague, measles, and ebola."

Molly nearly dropped the vial, face turning pale. Sherlock and I both lunged forward to catch it, but she managed to regain her grip, placing it on the work table. "S-say again?"

"That vial has some of the deadliest diseases known to human-kind. And the group that we're trying to stop is hell bent on turning that into a vapor to pump into the air vents of some building. I'm not certain where that is. But, should that happen, everyone will die and London will become a cesspool of some of the deadliest viruses and bacteria." I turned to look at Sherlock. "Am I missing anything?"

"Well, there is the fact that they said that there would be multiple different cocktails. That is only a sample I'm afraid."

"And what exactly do you expect me to do with this? We should be taking this to the military and the government. Take it to the group that your father worked for!"

I shook my head. "Unfortunately, that group no longer exists."

"Why is that? The government wouldn't get rid of something like that."

Sherlock looked at me, realization blooming on his face. "They're the ones behind this plan. It's genius. Why would the government believe anyone who said that the group that was meant to be protecting them from terrorists were actually the terrorists? That's how they have access to so much of the technology they need. That's how you knew them. That's how you acquired the information. You were _with_ them."

"They convinced me to join them, said that I would be getting revenge for my father and sister's death. But now I realize that it was a way for them to keep tabs on me as they'd failed in killing me. They obviously still do their jobs as they can't let anyone catch on, but they use the groups they stop to recruit new members. After nearly two years of investigating, I realized that my father's cover hadn't been blown, it was that he had caught on and they discovered that he knew."

I looked down at my hands. "I was a fool and I know it. But I'm trying to make the situation right. When I found out who they were and what they'd done, I fled. It's why I began to live on the streets two years ago. I couldn't put a flat in my name, couldn't get a job anywhere. As you said, Sherlock, this isn't Ireland. Then, one night, I managed to stumble on one of them. I fought him, not realizing that he was going to a meeting. I stole the memory stick and the documents and ran. They came after me and I spent three days avoiding them until I wound up on your doorstep."

"We'll see how true your story is," Sherlock murmured and I shot him a glare.

"Why in the hell would I make that up?" I stood up from the chair, arms crossed in front of my chest. "Are you really implying that I would be so terrible a person?"

"It's either you've lied to us since day one or you're lying to us now. You cannot claim to be a simple thief and then claim to be an agent for an elite task force against terrorism. That's not how this works. You are either one or the other."

"I stole to survive!" I shouted, feeling all of the rage that I'd been holding back flooding out now. "I did what I had to do! I lied to save my life, I stole so that I would have warm clothes, food to eat. I've slept under bridges, in dumpsters. I've been jumped on those streets and I've nearly been raped. All because my father, sister, and I wanted to do the right thing. If you can't believe that then you can go and fuck off Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

I stormed out of the lab, limping quickly down the hallway of the morgue. I got out onto the street, not caring where I headed, only that I wanted to get as far away from Sherlock as I possibly could. I didn't care that it was pouring down rain or that my leg was aching. I wanted nothing to do with that impossible man so long as I lived.

I missed my family. I missed the simpler times. I missed my flat that I'd had, how proud my father had been that I'd gotten my own place. But most of all I missed being loved and I missed being at peace with myself and the world around me. My life had been in turmoil for four years now. I didn't realize where I was going until I was nearly there. It was my favorite chip shop, one that my father had taken me to once a month after we'd finished sparring or target practice. I hadn't been to the place since before my father had died. It had been one of the last places I'd seen my father alive.

"Delilah, get in the cab." I froze when I heard that impatient drawl.

"What do you want Sherlock?"

"I spoke with John and he...well, he's not happy about what happened, said that I needed to apologize." He looked at me and I knew that an apology would never happen. "Will you please get in the cab? My meter's still running."

I sighed. "Only if you promise not to say a _single_ word on the ride back."

"Get in."

I rolled my eyes, knowing that arguing was going to be pointless. I opened the door, sliding in next to Sherlock. "Are we going back to Saint Bart's or to 221B?"

"The flat. There are some things that I still need to research."

The trip back was blessedly quiet. I kept my forehead pressed against the cool glass. I wasn't feeling well at all, but it was more than likely stress. We made it back to the flat and I exited the cab as Sherlock paid the driver. Instead of going upstairs, I decided to see Mrs. Hudson. I knocked on her door and she opened it, a look of surprise on her face.

"Delilah! What happened?"

"I got caught out in the rain Mrs. Hudson. I was hoping that maybe we could chat for a bit? I need a break from Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson frowned. "I love that boy, but he can be a bit hard to deal with sometimes. Sit down at the kitchen table dear. I'll grab you a towel and then I'll make you some tea."

I took the hat off of my head, placing it in my lap. I was doing my best to not drip all over her floor, but it looked as if I was failing miserably. Mrs. Hudson came back with three towels. I took them from her, placing one on the floor, one on the seat of the chair, and then I wrapped the last one around my shoulders. The cold was finally starting to kick in and I began to shiver.

The tea was done about ten minutes later and I took a large gulp, not caring that it burnt my tongue and scalded the back of my throat. Mrs. Hudson watched me and I offered her a smile. "Thank you so much. I truly appreciate it."

"No problem dear. What happened? I don't mean to pry, but I've known Sherlock for a few years and, while he has difficult days, he has a heart of gold."

"Well...we're working on a case and I have a bit of a checkered past. He keeps throwing it back in my face." I sighed, taking another gulp of tea. "I know how he can see what I've done as wrong, but I'm not a bad person."

"Of course you're not. Do you think that I would let someone bad into my flat and give them a towel to dry themselves off or a cup of tea? Sherlock, he's a different boy. He's special. He sees things in black and white, where you and I can see things in shades of grey. It will take time for him to come and trust you and to see you as the white instead of as the black area. But he will, I can feel it." She smiled, patting my hand. "I was being quite serious when I said that I hope you both had a lovely date. You look wonderful together."

I forced myself to smile, not really wanting to think of myself and Sherlock together. "You're too kind Mrs. Hudson."

We chatted for another hour. I had heard Sherlock moving around upstairs from time to time and each time I did, I glanced up at the ceiling. I finally rose from the table, wincing at the pain that shot up through my leg.

"Well Mrs. Hudson, I should probably go and help Sherlock with deciphering the document. I'll stop down either tomorrow or the day after and we'll have some tea. Maybe if I can convince John to go down to the store, I can bake you a cake to thank you for your kindness."

"No need to Delilah. I'd do it for any good person." She gave me a quick hug and I was happily surprised by the embrace. "Don't be a stranger. And don't let Sherlock get to you. I know how he can be."

"Thank you again," I said, waving to her as I left her flat. I heard her lock the door behind me and I began the slow ascent up the stairs.

I knocked on the door to the flat. "Sherlock, if you wouldn't mind opening the door I'd appreciate it. Please, I'm cold and I need to change my clothes."

He unlocked the door, opening it without a word. I limped in, going to make a beeline for the bathroom when I caught the screen of his laptop on the desk out of the corner of my eye. I froze, feeling as if I'd been punched in the gut and my heart was shattering into hundreds of pieces. My father and sister's faces were plastered all over the screen, the last photo we'd taken together, the photos from the morgue, even a news article.

I felt my entire world crumbling around me as I began to collapse. I tried to stop myself from fainting, but the entire world went dark quickly. The last thing that I remember was the feeling of someone catching me.

* * *

"Sherlock, what in the bloody hell happened?" John's voice sounded far away, as if echoing down a long tunnel.

"She came up here, saw what was on the laptop screen, and fainted. She has been unconscious for almost an hour now." Sherlock paused and I could feel John's hand on my wrist, taking my pulse. "I did some research while she was downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. She was telling the truth about everything."

"Which I never doubted for a second. Sherlock, you have to start trusting other people's instincts as well as your own. We're not as stupid as you seem to think we are."

I forced my eyes to open, looking around, seeing blurry shapes. John's face appeared mere inches from mine and I winced away. "What happened?"

"You're sick, Delilah. I told you to stay off that leg." The stethoscope was pressed to my chest even as he listened to my heartbeat and breath sounds. "How is the pain? Scale of one to ten?"

"About a two."

"How about if you were a normal, not stubborn human being?" John shoved a thermometer under my tongue even as I looked at Sherlock standing at the window, looking out onto the streets.

I held up four fingers and John nodded. The thermometer began beeping and he shook his head. "You're confined to this couch, doctor's orders. You're running a fever of 39.5 and your leg is worse than it was yesterday. No running around, no working on the case, no nothing until that leg of yours is better."

I sighed. "I can't argue with doctor's orders I suppose. So what do we do?"

John handed me a pill. "Take this. It's an antibiotic, one of the strongest ones you can get. It may make you sick and you'll need to drink a full cup of water before you take it, but you should hopefully be right as rain by the end of the week."

"Sherlock," I said, watching as the man turned to look at me. "What did you find by researching my father?"

"That you were telling the truth." He turned back to the window. "John, don't worry about taking the next week off. I'll stay here and care for her."

Both John and I looked at him as if he were insane. John seemed to hesitate before he asked, "Are you certain Sherlock? She'll need help moving around the flat and she'll have to be brought her food."

"It's fine…we can get to know each other in that time. I'll give her my old phone as well so that she can stay in contact with you and I throughout the day."

I was flabbergasted. What had brought about this change of heart? John asked the very thing I was thinking and Sherlock only sighed. I could see his reflection in the dark, raindrop coated window. I could make out the irritation and frustration, but there was something else there, something that he was trying to keep hidden. If I weren't mistaken, it was a mixture of confusion and something else. Kindness? Regret? I'd never know, because when he turned to look at me, it was with that same aloof stare.

"I will take care of her. She will be of aid to us in the case and I trust her enough to let her stay here and help. I believe her."

I let my head fall back onto the pillows. After two days of fighting with this man, he was finally agreeing with me that perhaps I wasn't such a horrible person.

Thank God.


	5. Chapter 5: Week of Surprises

***Hello lovelies! Sorry for the delay! Work has been insanely busy lately. I will say, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It's a lot longer than the others, but I wanted to give you guys a little bit more to read, as it may take me a while to write the next chapter. Again, reviews are always welcome. I'm so thankful to everyone who has read it up to this point. I'm having so much fun writing this! Enjoy and thank you again!***

* * *

 **Week of Surprises**

 **Day 1**

"Delilah! Would you please stop trying to do things on your own? I said that I would care for you, that way John wouldn't have to worry."

"Sherlock, I was only going to the bathroom. It's maybe twenty steps."

"Yes, but you are still running a high fever. Come on, back to the couch with you."

"But I'm bored." Inwardly, I cringed at the sound of my whining voice. "There's nothing to do except watch the telly. And there's never anything good to watch in the middle of the day."

"Well…hmmm…"

"Exactly. You don't suppose you could paint another smiley face on the wall and we could have target practice, do you?"

"No. I'm not scaring Mrs. Hudson and you need to rest. You took your pill this morning, correct?"

"Aye. John woke me to make certain that I took it before he left for work. Then I fell asleep and now I'm making my way back to the couch." I frowned when Sherlock's arm wrapped around my waist. "What are you doing?"

"You're not putting any weight on that leg. I have orders from Watson that you are not to put any pressure on it and that when you woke this morning, I was to change the bandaging and clean it."

"I'd rather do it myself," I grumbled even as Sherlock helped me to the couch. "Yesterday's experience wasn't pleasant. Plus, I believe you stated that you wouldn't be helping me out like that again."

"Well, I volunteered to help this time. There's a difference."

"Is there now?"

"If you'd like, you can bandage your own leg. But I know that the sight of your own blood makes you lightheaded."

"And you'd be right," I replied, pulling the blankets up around my neck, shivering. "Is it cold in here?"

"It's the fever. Now flip over. John was kind enough to grab alcohol pads from work yesterday, as well as gloves for me to wear."

I sighed, rolling over onto my stomach, shaking the blanket off of my leg, propping it up on the arm of the couch. "Does that work for you?"

"Perfect," Sherlock muttered, not even bothering to look up as he searched for the materials he'd need. "Now hold still and don't move."

I did as I was told, trying to relax even as he probed the wound with his fingers, wiping at the wound with the alcohol pads. I buried my face into the pillow, trying to keep from shouting as he probed an especially tender spot. After what seemed like hours, he began to wrap the wound, leaving it pulsing and sore. When he finished, I rolled over onto my back, leaving my leg propped up.

Sherlock took the gloves off, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and pressing it to his ear. He left the room to go to the kitchen. Curiosity got the better of me and I swung my legs off the couch, hobbling as quietly as I could to the kitchen doorway.

"Yes, John, I'm positive that she needs a debridement. Well, why can't you do that here? I'll go to the store and get some liquor then if she needs to be sedated. If need be I will hold Delilah. Yes, John, I understand that she'll be in pain, but it's better than her becoming septic. Research obviously. She's not going to the hospital." There was a long pause. "Fine, I'll ask her."

His head poked around the corner and I stumbled backwards in surprise. "Are you opposed to the idea of cutting out the dead tissue in your leg if we give you alcohol?"

"Will I heal faster?"

"Will she heal faster?" There was a pause before he looked at me. "Yes, you'll heal faster and it may not scar as bad."

"Do it."

"She said do it. Alright, well, I'll head down to the store as soon as I can. Yes, I'll prep everything before you come home. No, she hasn't been fed yet. I will. Good-bye." Sherlock hung up the phone, turning his attention to me. "What are you doing up from the couch? I told you to stay there."

"I was curious. Am I not allowed to be?"

"No."

I shook my head with incredulity. "So you can be, but I'm not allowed? I would think that you would be happy that someone would want to investigate something."

"If you were good at sneaking about then yes, I would encourage it. But as it is, I can hear you shuffling around like an old woman." Sherlock didn't even give me the chance to hobble to the couch as he lifted me into his arms.

"Do you always carry women around?"

"Only when they shouldn't be walking on an injured leg. Don't get used to it." Sherlock set me down on the couch. "Now, do you need anything or will I be able to run down to the market and pick up a few things?"

"I wouldn't mind a notebook and a pencil or pen. If you don't have it, don't worry about it."

"Why do you need it?"

"I was planning on sketching a few of their faces and writing down all of the information I know about them. Are you leaving the memory stick?"

"For what purpose?" Sherlock asked even as he left the room.

"I wanted to look through it, see if I could find anything. I'm bored, Sherlock. Give me something to do and I'll be right as rain. If not, I'll be bothering you all day long. And I highly doubt you want that," I called, leaning over the edge of the couch. "If that's what you'd like though, I'd be more than happy to irritate you with my rendition of Phantom of the Opera."

Sherlock returned. "Here you are. One pad of paper and a pen. I had to search through John's things. There is no singing in this flat. Now, I'm going to be heading out. No getting up while I'm gone and believe me when I say, I will know."

"Thank you."

"Why do you thank people so much? It's irritating."

"Because it's the polite thing to do. Why don't you do it?" I countered even as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"Because it is a waste of my time and people don't deserve to be thanked for doing their jobs."

"So you view me as a job then?"

"I view the case that we are working on as a job. You are merely a tool that I need to solve the case."

I nodded. "Well now I know where I stand with you. Thank you again for the paper and pen. I'll start sketching right away. You'll leave your laptop in reach?"

He set it on the coffee table, dragging it closer to me. "I am leaving. If you need anything, call me. Your gun is behind the laptop. Shoot anyone that comes in that you don't recognize. I should be back in an hour or so."

Sherlock swept out of the door and I sighed, leaning my head back against the arm of the couch. Why did I have to be trapped in a flat with him? I shifted, propping myself up so that the pillows were underneath my back, but my leg was still elevated. I reached over to grab the laptop, staring at the little blinking red light of the memory stick. I still couldn't understand how something so small could cause me so much grief.

I began to read the document. It was 394 pages ranging from transcripts of conversations to building instructions of the machine to an outline of the plans after London had fallen. After they had attacked London, the terrorists had a plan to slowly but surely begin to take over the surrounding countries, putting the slower moving diseases on airplanes, pumping them into the air system, spreading it throughout the world. I was on page 97 when a particular conversation caught my eye.

I began to read, writing down certain things that I found interesting. When I reached the bottom, I found the date. The odd thing was, it was dated in the future, January the 1st, 2014. I highlighted the date before looking over the document piece by piece. January 1st was two weeks away and it seemed that this transcript was of significance.

 _Present for this meeting is T. Oeur, F. Aling, M. Downs, and B. Redge. Transcribing is Ess._

 _ **T. Oeur:**_ _We simply must get together for a party some time._

 _ **F. Aling:**_ _Agreed. It has been much too long since we went out and had a good time._

 _ **M. Downs:**_ _Well, I believe that L. had plans for all of us sometime soon._

 _ **F. Aling:**_ _Oh? And what was that?_

 _ **T. Oeur:**_ _Yes, what was that?_

 _ **M. Downs:**_ _I believe they were in the mood for some fireworks if I'm not mistaken. A real surprise. Wanted to give London a show, one last hoorah before we begin to build the machine._

 _ **B. Redge:**_ _Sorry I'm late. Got held up in traffic._

 _ **T. Oeur:**_ _What happened to your face?_

 _ **B. Redge:**_ _That red-headed bitch is what happened. I found her in one of the tunnels sleeping and she attacked me and ran off._

 _ **M. Downs:**_ _Did you see where she ran off to? Perhaps we can catch her?_

 _ **T. Oeur:**_ _I have a score to settle with that girl. We'll leave now if it means killing her._

 _ **B. Redge:**_ _I didn't see where she went. Now, what were you all talking about?_

 _ **F. Aling:**_ _L. apparently has a plan for us to get together sometime soon that involves fireworks._

 _ **B. Redge:**_ _Wonderful! Does anyone know what we'll need? Do you think it will get that little cunt out of hiding long enough for us to kill her?_

 _ **T. Oeur:**_ _Maybe. But I believe L. had another plan for her. You see, her mother is still alive._

 _ **M. Downs:**_ _That girl hasn't spoken to her mother in years now. What makes you think that she'll start any time soon?_

 _ **F. Aling:**_ _Because when-_

 _ **Waitress:**_ _Can I get you gentlemen anything to eat or drink?_

 _ **T. Oeur:**_ _No thank you dear, I think we'll be fine with what we have._

 _ **M. Downs:**_ _Ah shit. Sorry guys, I've got to take this. The little one has been ill lately and the wife's been on my back. Could we reschedule this?_

 _ **B. Redge:**_ _Certainly. Sorry about your little one._

 _ **M. Downs:**_ _Have a good night gentlemen._

 _ **14/1/1**_

I re-read it a few times, feeling the hair on the back of my neck standing up. There was something off-putting about this one transcript, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I sighed, closing the laptop, leaning back into the pillows. I'd think about it after I rested my eyes for a bit.

* * *

"Wake up."

I opened my eyes to find Sherlock setting up a plate for me with Chinese takeaway. I sat up, my stomach growling. "When did you get back?"

"Half an hour ago. You were asleep. I read over your notes. Why did that one transcript intrigue you? Was it because it had your mother in it?"

"No. It's because it was dated for January the 1st of 2014, which as you know-"

"Is two weeks away. Yes, I know. What page was that on?"

"97 to 98. I'm surprised you didn't see it."

"I skimmed over most of the transcriptions as those would take me the shortest amount of time to analyze. I was looking at the scanned in documents of the machines. One of them had yesterday's date and a time scribbled on it, as well as the name of the man and the pub." He handed me the plate. "Now, eat. You need to regain your strength and John doesn't want you to get sick from the alcohol. His last appointment is at three this afternoon, so you can start drinking after you eat."

"Will you drink with me?"

"Why?"

"It makes me feel like less of an alcoholic."

"I don't drink."

I sighed. "Sherlock, loosen up a little bit. I'm not going to hurt you or John. If I was going to I would have the first day I was here. One shot, that's all I'm asking for. Please."

"Eat your food," he said simply, sitting in the chair with the laptop in hand.

I did, finishing my food quickly. I took a few gulps of the water that had been left in the cup for me before sitting back, grabbing the paper and pen. I began to sketch and had been half-way finished with the first gentleman, the man I'd known as Agent Cormack, when Sherlock set the bottle of vodka down in front of me. I wrinkled my nose.

"Really? You couldn't get a bottle of whisky?"

"This was the cheapest thing that they had and it will get you drunk the fastest." Sherlock left the room for the kitchen, coming back with two glasses. "Now, we will each do one shot. That's it for me."

"Why did you change your mind?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I enjoy vodka."

"Well, this will be interesting then." I watched as Sherlock poured a little bit into each glass. I took the one closest to me. "To us solving this case."

"To _me_ solving this case you mean."

I tossed back the alcohol, coughing at the burn, eyes watering. "Jesus, what is this, rocket fuel?"

Sherlock's face was bright red even as he swallowed his. "I don't know, but I think I made a terrible mistake."

"How much is this procedure going to hurt?"

"It will depend on how much you drink. If you do three more shots I've no doubt that you'll barely remember a thing. But John doesn't want you unconscious for the procedure, as he has no equipment to keep track of your pulse and oxygen saturation."

I frowned. "I suppose I'll need another shot then."

"I believe I'll have another with you."

* * *

"What are you two doing?" Two hours later, John's voice cut through our laughter and we both looked at him. I knew there was a huge grin on my face. I also knew that I was drunk.

"Come John, come 'n' have a drink with us!" Sherlock's words were slurred and I couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day where Sherlock Holmes was drunk. What a lightweight!" I crowed, slapping my knee.

"You're still a shot behind Delilah. Come on John, join us!"

"No. You're both behaving like idiots. Delilah, we need to work on your leg."

"I don't want to," I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "I'm having fun with Sherlock and this bottle of vodka."

John snatched the bottle off the table and Sherlock and I both started up from the couch. We would have gone for the bottle if I hadn't toppled into Sherlock and Sherlock had fallen onto the couch, trying to grab me for stability. I fell back onto him and struggled to get off, laughing uncontrollably. Sherlock was surprisingly gentle in helping me up, sitting me on the couch.

"Are you alright?"

I laughed. "I'm fine Sherlock. I know you're drunk when you ask me if I'm alright."

"Mary's on her way over. She's going to help me with debriding the wound since you're too drunk to help me. Honestly, Holmes, I told you to take care of her, not get plastered."

"She asked me to drink with her."

"I thought you had more sense than that!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, I'm not _that_ drunk."

"Are you being serious right now? You are _absolutely_ that drunk. You were laughing with the girl that you've despised since she came here!"

"But that was before I found out about her and the truth," Sherlock protested.

John shook his head, a look of impatience in his eyes. "Would you at least help me set up so we can take care of her leg?"

"Hold on. Hold on. C'n I go to the bathroom first?" I asked, feeling my head spinning. "I really need to go."

John helped me to my feet. "Wrap your arm around my neck. I knew I should have grabbed crutches before I left. Come on. That's it." We made it to the bathroom door and I gave him a grin. "Will you be alright going to the toilet by yourself?"

I nodded. "I'll be perfectly fine. You worry too much."

John sighed. "I need to worry, especially if you both are going to be getting drunk together. You're both messes."

"Yes, but we're your messes John. Admit it, you enjoy having Sherlock around me. It's fun to watch."

I could see John's lips twitch with a smile. "You do keep things interesting around here, that's for certain. Now, go use the bathroom. Mary should be here any minute."

As I finished using the bathroom, I heard the door open and close. I washed my hands, looking into the mirror as I did so. My cheeks were a rosy red and my eyes were glittering in my face. My skin was paler than normal, but I had no doubt that that was from the infection and fever. Amazingly, despite being ill, I felt better than I had in ages. I tied my un-brushed hair into a ponytail with the rubber band I still had before I exited into the living room.

John was by my side immediately and while I protested him helping me, my drunkenness couldn't match his sobriety. I found Mary and Sherlock talking around what looked suspiciously like the kitchen table draped in a drop cloth. John patted the table and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you serious? You're going to cut my leg open on the kitchen table?"

"Would you prefer somewhere else? Like the hospital?"

I shook my head, easing myself onto the table. "This is fine. One more shot before we do this. I don't want to feel a thing."

Sherlock handed me a glass. He still had the flushed look of being drunk, but the cheer was definitely gone. I took the shot and Mary began to prepare the supplies. I looked at her, worried about what was going to happen. I'd never had this done before, not even when I'd been shot.

"Would you mind stripping down to your underwear? We'll cover you with a blanket," Mary asked, offering me a soft smile. "If you'd like, I can have Sherlock and John turn around until I get you covered."

I unbuttoned my pants, stripping out of them to reveal the men's boxers I'd swiped a few weeks prior when I'd broken into someone's house. "I came prepared. Don't know why more women don't wear them."

Mary chuckled. "They are quite comfy. I like to sleep in them from time to time."

I giggled. "They are! I don't understand why women aren't wearing them more. Why is it that men always get the nicer clothes? These are so comfortable I hardly even notice them."

"I couldn't agree with you more. Now, would you mind laying down on your stomach for me Delilah?" Mary asked and I obliged. "There you go. I won't lie to you, this is going to hurt. I managed to get some numbing medicine to use, but it will still hurt. Try not to struggle and bite down on this if it becomes unbearable."

She produced a leather belt, doubled over. I knew that it would keep me from crying out and scaring Mrs. Hudson. I looked at Sherlock. "Sherlock, I know this is asking for a lot, but would you mind holding my hand?"

"What? Why on earth would I do that?"

I could tell that the alcohol was wearing off. "Because I'm asking you to nicely and human contact will help me."

"Fine. But I'm going to be looking at the laptop the entire time, so don't expect any kind words from me." He sat down in front of me on the floor, gripping my hand loosely in his. "Is that good enough for you?"

"Perfect," I replied, feeling John's fingers probing my leg wound. "So when's the sh-son of a bitch!"

"Now," John replied. "It should be numb in about five minutes or so. Then we'll get to cutting out the infected tissue and cleaning it. How're you feeling?"

"A bit nervous. I'm worried about how much this is going to hurt."

"Would you like to hear about the procedure?" Sherlock asked.

"No!" All three of us snapped.

Sherlock ignored us, beginning to read off the step-by-step procedure. I gagged when he got to the part about cutting away necrotic tissue. My heart was racing in my chest and I laid my head down on my arms. "I don't feel so good."

"I'm sure you don't," John said, crossing to Sherlock, slapping the laptop lid down. "Don't make her ill before I cut into her please."

"I was merely educating her about the procedure that she was about to undergo."

"I don't think I want to do this anymore."

Mary's face appeared in front of me, kind and calming. "You're going to be alright. It's a few quick spots to cut, a little flush of saline solution and rubbing alcohol, and then you'll be bandaged up and right as rain. Keep calm for me, okay? I promise it will be over soon."

"Okay," I said shakily, feeling my stomach doing flip-flops. "Could I have a bowl or something in case I become ill?"

Mary put it down next to Sherlock. "Give this to her if she starts feeling sick. I don't think you'll have a problem with that though as I doubt you want vomit on you."

"I would prefer to not have that happen," Sherlock replied, wrinkling his nose. "Try not to get sick on me."

I only nodded, closing my eyes. I felt John poke my leg, but surprisingly there was no pain. "Can you feel that?"

"No."

"Good. Well then, let's get started, shall we? This will only hurt for a little bit."

I felt the first incision, but it was a dull ache, almost like a sunburn. I kept my breathing steady, deciding that this wasn't the worst pain I'd ever felt. The pair worked in silence for a few minutes and when I opened my eyes again, I realized almost twenty minutes had gone by. There was a sharp pain and I squeezed Sherlock's hand tight, doing my best to not jerk my leg away. Without looking at me, Sherlock forced the piece of leather between my teeth. I clamped down hard to keep myself from crying out as I felt the next incision.

"I'm sorry, I know this is uncomfortable, but I'm almost done. We're getting down to the center of the wound. You really should have gotten stitches for this and had it properly cleaned."

I only rolled my eyes, resting my head on my arms once more. Sherlock, despite his aloof attitude, was helping me. The feeling of his hand in mine was comforting. I only wished that it was John's hand instead as I liked John. Or Mary even. They were both kind people and a very lovely couple. I felt the pain again and my grip on Sherlock's hand tightened. He set the laptop down, going to kneel in front of me.

"Can you hear my voice?" He asked and I nodded quickly, the tears streaming down my face.

"Good. I'm going to ask you a series of yes or no questions. Please answer them and focus only on the sound of my voice. Can you do that for me?" When I didn't respond, he turned my head, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Answer my question with a nod or a shake of your head."

I nodded and he smiled. "Good. First question. Is your mother still living in London?" I nodded. "Is she still a drunk?" Again I nodded. "Would she be coherent enough to speak with?" I shook my head. "Would you be willing to talk to her?" I shrugged, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I ask because there is another section in the documents talking about your mother and how they were going to torture information out of her. I doubt they've done it yet, but I think that's how they were going to get to you. Do you want to stop it or do you hate her so much that you wouldn't care if she were tortured?"

I lay there, thinking about it. I hadn't seen my mother since I'd received my father and sister's ashes, if that's what they even were. She and I had gotten into a huge argument over who would get the ashes and ultimately, I got to keep them. I'd scattered the ashes in Ireland and she had left me a very nasty voicemail when she was drunk about how she wished that I had died instead of my sister. But could I let her be tortured, perhaps even killed? I may not like the woman, but she didn't deserve to die. She was the last of my direct family after all.

I ended up shrugging before biting down on the leather. It felt as if John were scooping out the flesh in my calf and it was not pleasant. Sherlock, for some strange reason, brushed the hair off of my sweaty forehead, forcing me to look at him. "I know it's painful for you, but it's almost done. John got the last of the tissue and he's going to start cleaning now. Are you doing alright?"

I nodded slowly, taking the leather out from between my teeth. "Bowl please."

Sherlock handed it to me quickly and I became violently ill. He held my hair, rubbing my back. I felt embarrassed and my head was swimming. Sherlock's fingers grabbed my wrist, taking my pulse. He frowned. "Her heart rate is 188."

"Given the stress we're putting her under, plus the alcohol, it's not surprising."

Sherlock took the bowl from me, going into the kitchen. I watched as he unceremoniously dumped its contents down the drain. He grabbed something from one of the drawers and as he was coming back, I realized it was a damp rag. He wiped at my face before placing it on the back of my neck.

"Be easy, Delilah. Focus on your breathing for me. Can you do that?" I nodded, my eyelids growing heavy. I hadn't realized how tired I was. "Good. Now, listen to my voice and focus on your breathing. Take a deep breath in for me." There was a pause. "And out. Now in…and out. And again. You're doing great. John's almost done. He-"

I was unconscious before he could finish his sentence.

* * *

 **Day 4**

"THE PHAAAAAANTOM OF THE OPERA IS HERE INSIDE MY MIND!" I sang loudly as I sat on the couch. Once again I was bored and Sherlock had locked himself away in his room as I was too much of a distraction.

My leg was healing better than I thought it would and I was getting to annoy Sherlock, which was actually quite easy to do I was finding. He normally gave in once I started the first few lines, but I'd nearly gotten through two songs and he wasn't even moving to stop me. I took a deep breath to belt out the next line.

"Would you stop your God awful crowing? I can't concentrate."

"Well then let's do something Sherlock. I'm tired of being cooped up in this flat on the couch."

"Do you want to go and visit Mrs. Hudson then? I'm sure _she_ would love your company and whatever that is that you call singing."

"Mrs. Hudson said that she had a doctor's appointment today and then she would be going to the market afterwards. Sherlock, please can we go somewhere? I promise I'll be quiet the entire trip."

"John said for you to take it easy on your leg."

"And I _have_ been. I've been asking the both of you to help me everywhere, including to the bathroom and back. It's so degrading. Please. Even a quick cab ride would be nice."

Sherlock sighed. I could tell he was losing his patience with me. "Fine. But you have to answer my question first."

"Aye? And what question might that be?"

"How did you get the burn to your leg?"

"Why do you care so much? It's an old injury, happened when I was fourteen. It's nothing major."

Sherlock stepped into the living room. "Your mother burned you, didn't she? It's the reason why your father divorced her."

I could feel my face flush. "How did you-?"

"Know? Your father had to have motivation outside of her being a drunk to divorce her. From what I learned during my short time researching him, he was an honorable man, hence why you were angry with me when I suggested he was anything less than that. Which means he wouldn't leave your mother without good reason. You said the divorce happened when you were fifteen, so if she burned you at fourteen, it would have been the cause of their divorce." Sherlock looked pleased with himself and I rolled my eyes, irritated.

" _Bravo_ Mr. Holmes. I can tell you've been stewing over that since you saw the scar. Yes, my mother burned me. She'd been making tea for my sister and I for after school. I was home first as my sister had wanted to stop by a friend's house on the way home. I told her I thought it would be okay because our mother was normally passed out drunk on the couch."

"But when you came home she was awake. I'm assuming she grew angry with you?"

"Aye that she did. Said I was undermining her authority as a mother by letting my sister go gallivanting around London with the underbelly of society. I tried to explain myself and that's when she threw the hot water from the stove on me." I pulled up the legs of the sweatpants, revealing the scars on the top and inner thigh. "It caught me all across here. I stripped out of my pants and ran to the bedroom where the phone was. My mother had lost her mind, came after me with a knife. I called the police and then my sister, telling her to stay at her friend's place because mother had gone mad."

I pulled the pant legs down. "Now you know about all of my scars. Can we please go and do something?"

"How about we do some target practice?"

* * *

"That was fun! It was a shame that we ran out of bullets though," I said, a smile on my face even as Sherlock helped me out to the cab. "Do you think we can go again the week after next?"

"Perhaps. I'll have to speak with Lestrade and make sure that we can use their range. This was short notice and he made it a point to mention that." Sherlock gave me a small sideways grin as he helped me into the back seat of the cab. "Where did you learn to shoot?"

"My father taught me. I began practicing with him at sixteen. We would go to the range whenever we could. I really enjoyed it." I moved over to the other side so that Sherlock could get in. "Do you want to grab something to eat?"

"I could do with some food. But then it's back to the flat with you. You need to rest."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine. You and John need to stop worrying so much."

"I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about angering John. It's quite annoying having him shout at me."

I laughed. "He does seem to do that often. Well, there's a fish and chip shop we could stop at on the way back, if you don't mind. My treat."

"How did you get money?" Sherlock asked even as I told the cabbie the address.

"From when I was panhandling. I've been saving some cash for a rainy day." In truth I'd swiped it from the officer in the lane next to us when I'd asked him about his firearm. "Do you mind my paying?"

"Feel free."

The trip to the shop was quiet and we entered, Sherlock wrapping his arm around my waist. To an outsider, it would have looked as if he were a partner keeping his significant other warm. But the fact was, that couldn't be farther from the truth. After our night of getting drunk, Sherlock had been quite distant, minus when he'd had to help me around the flat. We'd barely spoken unless I annoyed him enough to start a conversation. Normally it ended in fighting between the two of us.

But, today was a peaceful day and while he seemed to be lost in thought, he wasn't behaving like a complete ass. We waited in line quietly and as we did, I became increasingly aware of how close our bodies were. I shifted uncomfortably and he looked down at me.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just remembering how my father and I would always come in here."

"Ah. I was wondering why you'd chosen this little hole in the wall."

"I've been coming in here since I was a child. Whenever we visited London for the holidays my father would take me and when we moved here, it became one of our hangouts. He'd take me here and he'd take my sister to Tower Bridge. She loved walking it with him." I smiled as my eyes fell on the small booth in the corner. "We'd come early, beat the lunch crowds on a weekend and we'd sit in that booth over there and talk about whatever. School, life, politics. As I got older it became mom, my sister, school, and future plans. One of the last times I saw him alive was in that corner booth."

Sherlock was quiet as we shuffled forward and now I was the one lost in thought. When we reached the front of the line, I was greeted by the wizened old face of the owner, a man I had fondly come to know as Ted. He gave me a wide-smile.

"What c'n I get yeh two lovebirds?"

"Two orders of beer battered filets and chips. Could you put extra salt on one order please?"

His grin widened. "O' course I c'n! Fer here or t'go?"

"To go please Ted." My eyes widened as I realized I'd said his name and his eyes began to sparkle with mischief.

"I thought that was you little lassie. Beautiful lil' Del, I haven't seen yeh since yer papa passed away. Thought maybe yeh'd forgotten about dear ol' Ted. Meal's on me dear. I've missed seein' yeh. Promise me yeh'll come by a bit more?"

"Of course Ted," I said softly, watching as he slid two containers towards me. "We'll go down to the pub sometime, have a drink together."

"Sounds like a lovely plan. You two have a wonderful time an' I'll be seein' yeh soon."

We left the shop and I was leaning on Sherlock heavily, not because of the pain in my leg, but because of the pain in my heart. I hadn't wanted to be recognized, but Ted had known me for years. Even if I hadn't slipped, he more than likely would have recognized me. I threw out my hand, watching as three cabs whizzed by before a fourth finally stopped. Sherlock opened the door, not saying a word. I slid in, holding the boxes tightly in my hand.

"I'm assuming by your not talking and your dejected demeanor, you didn't want him to recognize you."

"Not now, Sherlock. Please."

He thankfully remained silent the entire ride back to the flat, lost in thought once more. He helped me out of the cab and we made it slowly up the stairs to 221B. I sat down on the couch, setting Sherlock's box on the other side of the table as I opened my own. The detective surprised me by sitting next to me on the couch.

"How does your leg feel?"

"Fine. Why are you asking?"

"You've been putting a lot of strain on it today. You shouldn't be doing so much so soon. John said it would be at least a week."

I raised an eyebrow. "In the past four days I've learned that you don't ask a question without a purpose. Why are you asking? And don't lie."

Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised by my statement. "You noticed?"

"Of course I did. Not everyone is stupid, Sherlock, something that you seem to not be able to comprehend. I certainly didn't survive the streets or these people for as long as I have by being a complete imbecile." I took a bite of the fish, enjoying the taste. "You seem to think that people are worthless, blind. And yes, you would be right to say that most of them are. But not all of them. I see you, Sherlock Holmes, whether you like to acknowledge that fact or not."

He stared at me. "Tell me what you see then."

"You sure you want to know? Because as you did with me, I won't hold back."

"I'm asking you to prove yourself because I highly doubt that you know that much."

I couldn't help but smile. "You're so sure of yourself, but underneath that confidence is someone who worries about whether or not he's correct. You show off not because you are so smart, but because you always have to be the center of attention, perhaps from years of being ignored. But why would you have been ignored? Your brother's position in the government says it all. You both attended boarding school and unlike a regular school, you weren't able to be the focus of attention to the authority figures. So you discovered that by using your talents to anger the other boys, to get into fights, you would get the attention you so desperately craved. Even bad attention was better than none."

I paused to take another bite, feeling Sherlock's eyes locked onto me. "You were bullied mercilessly and with that you developed a hatred for those that were your supposed colleagues. It's why you were rude to every officer when we were shooting, including Lestrade when he came down to watch. You loathe authority figures as well, Mrs. Hudson being the exception to that rule. I still haven't figured out why you're so attached to John yet though, although I could always ask him to find out."

"But, my last point is this. You're not a bad man, Sherlock, despite the fact that you shove nearly every single person away from you. You're not as cold and cruel as you seem to be. For you, everything is compartmentalized. Emotions and empathy happen to be in a very small compartment that you rarely open. You have no time for it, which, in your line of work, is a good thing. But, when you're not working you need to learn to turn the deduction side of your brain off and the empathetic side of your brain on. Life can't be one hundred percent work one hundred percent of the time. You have to live a little Sherlock."

"You know nothing of me. I am a high-functioning sociopath."

I shook my head. "You're not. If you were, you wouldn't be able to care about Mrs. Hudson, John, and Molly. I see the differences of how you act with them versus other people. Yes, most of the time you are cold and distant, but you wouldn't have helped me the other night while John was working on my leg if you didn't have the ability to empathize with someone."

Sherlock got up from the couch, shaking his head. "You know nothing. Nothing!"

"Keep telling yourself that Mr. Holmes if it makes you feel better. I know what I know and I know to trust my instincts about people." I met his confused and panicked gaze. "You are a good man Sherlock."

Sherlock swept out of the room, slamming his bedroom door. I sat on the couch, eating the rest of my fish and chips, wondering what else I could find out about Sherlock's personality on John's blog.

* * *

 **Day 7**

"Fuck!" I hissed even as my leg gave out and I fell to the floor on my way back to the bathroom. "Son of a bitch."

"What are you doing?" I heard Sherlock call from his bedroom. He'd been doing his best to avoid me since I'd done my own analysis of his personality. He came around the corner, eyes wide. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to bother you," I grumbled even as he helped me off the floor. "I thought I could do it myself."

Sherlock sighed. "Stop being so stubborn and call me next time, please. I don't need to be scooping you off of the floor."

"I'm fine. Truly, I'm fine. I would've gotten up on my own."

"Yes, as you would have made it back to the living room without falling. Wrap your arm around my waist please."

I did as he asked, gripping to him tight as we made our way slowly to the couch. He set me down and I gave him a small smile. "Thank you Sherlock."

"Didn't we have this discussion about thanking people earlier in the week?"

"Aye, but I'll still do it. It's a habit."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We have a week before the fireworks are set to go off. But we still don't have a place. You wouldn't happen to have any ideas, would you?"

"G'morning." Both of us turned, surprised, to see John standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "What was all that thumping about?"

"I fell. What are you doing here John?"

"It's Christmas. What wouldn't I be doing here?"

My eyes widened with surprise. "It's Christmas? I must have lost track of the days. Goodness and I didn't get either of you a present or a tree. I didn't even attempt to decorate."

"How were you going to do any of that? You can hardly walk to the bathroom and back," Sherlock said pointedly. "And since when do we celebrate Christmas in the flat?"

"Since Mary is going to bring over Christmas dinner and Mrs. Hudson is coming up to join us. I don't understand the fuss when we did the same thing last year with more people." John frowned before turning to me. "Don't worry Delilah, I bought decorations for the flat. I meant to ask you if you'd like to decorate yesterday, but you were asleep for most of the day and I didn't want to wake you."

"We can decorate now!" I said excitedly. I hadn't had a proper Christmas since before my father had died.

"Again. Since when do we do Christmas in this flat?" Sherlock's voice was a bit louder than it had been before and I glanced up at him, rolling my eyes.

"Stop being such a spoilsport and help us decorate. It's the holidays, Sherlock."

He looked at me as if I had two heads. "You two feel free to decorate. I will be hiding in my room."

Sherlock left both of us standing there and I shrugged. "Guess we'll be decorating ourselves. I'll take a break if my leg starts to hurt, I promise."

"Let's get started then."

* * *

We spent nearly four hours decorating. I had to take a couple of breaks here and there to rest my leg, but we got all of the garland and ornaments up. We'd even hung some mistletoe in the doorway to the kitchen. I sighed, collapsing on the couch, looking around.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!" I began to sing and John chuckled as Sherlock shouted from the back bedroom.

"What'd you say Sherlock?" I called back.

He poked his head around the corner, glaring. "I said no singing."

I stuck my tongue out at him, causing John to break out into a fit of giggles. "And I said stop being such a spoilsport. Sherlock, it's supposed to be a nice day. At least go and get ready for dinner."

Sherlock looked to John. "I despise you for this."

John grinned. "Of course you do. Now go and get dressed. Mary should be here in an hour or so with Christmas dinner."

I went to the bathroom, brushing my hair and teeth. I dressed as best I could, stumbling as I tried to tug my pants on. My leg had been healing very well since the debridement. It still hurt, but there was no sign of infection. John had been very thorough and between him and Sherlock cleaning the wound, it was healing nicely. I had to be careful about overexerting myself, as it would give out occasionally, but by the next week, I should be moving as I used to.

 _'Just in time for the fireworks show,'_ I thought to myself as I tugged at the hem of my sweater. _'Hopefully we can figure out in time. Sherlock and I have both been pondering it since we discovered it. I need to sit down and speak with him at some point about it.'_

I heard someone knocking at the front door and I exited the bathroom, limping down the hall to the living room where Mary was standing, arms full of groceries. I grabbed a bag from her, as did John, and we carried it into the kitchen. As we set everything down, Mary was embracing me.

"It's so good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," I replied, returning her hug. "Sherlock and John have been taking very good care of me."

"As they should," she replied and I smiled. "I knew John would take care of you, but I was worried about how Sherlock would treat you."

The consulting detective in question had slunk into the living room, trying to make himself invisible in his chair and failing miserably. I chuckled. "He was actually very well-behaved. We even went out shooting one day. That was...interesting."

Mary raised an eyebrow even as she put the half-cooked turkey into the oven to continue cooking. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Well, I don't know," I replied, taking out a bag of brussel sprouts. "I thought he and I had gotten closer after we went to the fish and chip shop I used to go to as a child, but then we got into a bit of an argument."

"That's sort of his thing, arguing with people," Mary replied. "He and John used to have horrendous arguments when they first began living together. Sherlock would bring all sorts of experiments into the flat, including body parts." Mary shuddered. "But, they're the best of friends now. They do fight on occasion, but I think losing Sherlock really changed some things between them, made them closer somehow."

I looked at the two of them sitting in the living room, John trying to coax Sherlock. I could see, just from the way that John looked at Sherlock, that he enjoyed the man's company. And maybe their relationship would never be something that Mary or I could understand. But the fact that two completely polar opposite people could get along as well as they did, despite the ups and downs, made my heart happy for some reason.

I helped Mary prep the side dishes and an hour later, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. She took my place in the kitchen, forcing me to go and sit despite my protests. I joined John on the couch and we talked even as Mary and Mrs. Hudson finished Christmas dinner. Sherlock continued staring at the laptop, going through the documents.

"Supper's ready!" Mrs. Hudson called and John helped me up off the couch before going to Mary under the misteltoe, giving her a kiss.

I touched Sherlock's shoulder. "Come on, let's go and get some supper."

He sighed. "I don't want to participate. I need to focus on this case."

Despite my leg, I knelt down beside him, not taking my hand off his shoulder. "Come and have a bit of supper. I promise you, it'll still be here when we're finished. And I promise, you and I will spend every night and day working on it figuring it out. Think of it as my Christmas present."

"So, you'll help me. You'll even answer any question that I may have about you between now and the first?"

"Yes. I will. Now, will you come have supper with us?"

"I'll be in in a minute. I promise."

"I'm holding you to that," I replied, struggling to get to my feet. Sherlock helped me up and I gave him a smile. "See you at the table."

I limped into the kitchen where Mary, Mrs. Hudson, and John were already sitting. I sat between Mrs. Hudson and Mary. Mrs. Hudson looked at me apprehensively. "Well, is he coming or should we eat without him?"

Before I could reply, Sherlock strolled in, a forced grin on his face. He sat down across from me at the table. "Shall we eat then?"

The food was delicious and I ate more than I probably should have. But we were all laughing and talking, sharing stories. Even Sherlock seemed to relax a bit and he told us about a couple of minor cases he had worked on before he'd met John. I kept catching him staring at me from across the table. I raised my glass of wine, watching as everyone's eyes turned to me.

"A week and two days ago, I showed up on this doorstep, unable to breathe with people trying to kill me. I was taken in by a kind doctor and a kind yet brusque consulting detective. I wasn't expecting to stay here, nor was I expecting to find a friendship with these two men, the doctor's fiancé, and their landlady. But here I am, for the first time in four years, sitting and enjoying a wonderful Christmas dinner with wonderful people. So I propose a toast. To these wonderful people at this table who I feel I can call friend and to their kindness and kind hearts. May this next year bring us closer and make us happier and better people."

"To new friendships and new adventures!" John cheered, raising his glass.

"To love and marriage!" Mary said, raising her own glass. "May this year prosper with it."

"To having friends, both old and new." Mrs. Hudson cheered, a smile on her face.

I looked at Sherlock, watching in surprise as he raised his glass. "To learning new things and solving new cases."

We all clinked our glasses together and I drank deeply from my glass. I could see Sherlock watching me from across the table and I felt the flush rising up in my cheeks. We all set our glasses down and John and Mrs. Hudson got up, heading to the living room.

"Who wants to open presents now?" John asked.

"Oh no!" I cried, frowning. "I didn't get presents for anyone."

"It's fine," Mary reassured me, going to join John on the couch. "We didn't expect you to get us anything. I mean, you've been laid up for the past week and you don't have any money."

I got up from the table, staring at them with tears in my eyes as I realized that they had brought presents. Presents for _me._ I wanted to cry right then and there. I was surprised to see Sherlock by my side, his arm wrapped around my waist.

"Still want to do this whole Christmas celebration or have you changed your mind?" He murmured in my ear and I looked up at him, laughing despite the tears.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Let's go and join them then."

We slowly began to hobble out of the kitchen when Mrs. Hudson's face lit up, pointing above us. "Oh, look who's under the mistletoe! Guess what that means?"

"What?" I looked up and realized in horror that because of his helping me, we had ended up under the mistletoe together.

"Come on! You're both under the mistletoe and it's Christmas," Mrs. Hudson urged.

"I don't think that's such a-"

Before I could finish, Sherlock was spinning me to face him. "You wanted Christmas to happen. Why not this?"

"Are you drunk?" I hissed, feeling the flush rising in my cheeks.

"No. Only in the Christmas spirit and I want to put on a show. I like to be the center of attention, remember?" He pulled me close to him and I became painfully aware of him, of his body and the heat between us.

He brushed a stray curl out of my face and I heard Mary's small gasp as Sherlock began to lean down to kiss me. My heart was racing and I was terrified. Was I supposed to turn my head? Reciprocate? As our lips met, my eyes fluttered closed, one hand going to the back of his neck, the other gripping his shoulder. His hands rested on my hips, but he pulled me a bit closer even as I tilted my head, allowing him a deeper kiss.

Sherlock slowly pulled away and I looked up at him, feeling my entire body trembling. He smirked. "Merry Christmas thief."

"Merry Christmas Mr. Holmes," I replied breathlessly, pulling away from him, limping to the armchair. "Merry Christmas everyone."

Had that truly happened? Had I just kissed Sherlock Holmes? By the stares I was getting from the other three in the room, yes, it had happened and yes, I had kiss him. Oh God. What had I gotten myself into?


	6. Chapter 6: Fireworks for London

***Wow! Two in one day! I'm on a roll. And you all might get another chapter tomorrow, depending on how I feel. I will say as a sort of forewarning, I've never been to London (though I want to) and everything in this next chapter is what I've learned from typing things into search engines. So if it's wrong, please don't get too angry! I did as much research as I could and took guesses, so I apologize in advance if it's wrong. But I hope you all enjoy it!***

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Fireworks for London**

 _"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down," my sister sang and I laughed, running under her and our friend Lionel's arms. "London Bridge is falling down, my dear lady!"_

 _They caught me on the second loop and we all broke into fits of giggles. We all lay down in the grass and I looked at Olivia, seeing myself in her. We were the best of friends, the only friend the other needed. I grabbed her hand, watching as she was no longer a child, but the young woman I'd known before she'd died._

 _"Have you solved it yet?"_

 _"No. I'm trying Olivia, I really am. Sherlock and I both are."_

 _"Are you? Or are you swooning over him like a lovesick puppy?"_

 _"Livvy, that's not very nice," I said, hurt by her words. "I want to capture these bastards, you know that. I want revenge for you and Dad. I miss you both so much and while putting them behind bars won't bring you back, it will at least make it so they can't tear another family apart."_

 _"I don't think you're trying hard enough. The answer has been in front of you the entire time. Stop being blind and do something this time."_

 _"I'm trying!" I shouted, sitting up. "God damn it, I'm trying Livvy."_

 _"Not hard enough. Clock's ticking. Are you going to save people or are you going to watch them burn? Going to watch them die like you watched Dad and I die? Are you?"_

 _I began to cry, scrambling away as she burst into flames. She began to crawl after me, reaching out towards me. "Are you going to fail again? Are you going to be a murderer?"_

 _"I'm not a murderer. I'm not!"_

 _"But you are. You may as well have lit the match that killed me. It's your fault, Del. All your fault!"_

"No!" I sobbed, jerking upright. I looked around, seeing Sherlock sitting in the chair where he'd been when I'd gone to bed earlier. He merely glanced over at me before returning to the laptop and the notes I'd taken the other day.

"What time is it?"

"Two-thirty."

I sighed, laying back down, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Sorry."

"For?"

"Shouting."

Sherlock shrugged. "It didn't bother me any and Watson is over at Mary's for the night. Are you going back to sleep?"

"I was going to try, but I doubt it."

The man in the chair was quiet, staring at the screen. "Maybe you can see something I'm missing. Tomorrow is the day that this is going to happen and I can't quite figure it out. It's like the answer is right there, trapped in my mind." Sherlock sighed and I could tell he was frustrated. "I need to figure this out."

"Let me see my notes," I said, getting off the couch to sit next to Sherlock on the floor. "I'll help you until I get tired again."

He and I worked in silence by the glow of the computer. Ever since Christmas, I had been doing my best to avoid him. He'd come into the living room right before I'd gone to sleep, muttering something about a change of scenery. I'd gone to sleep with my back to him, ignoring his muttering. He had been more than happy to ignore me as well and I couldn't figure out if I was hurt by his acting like the kiss had never happened or relieved.

I looked over the paper, humming as I did. Sherlock kept shooting me glares, but I ignored him. I read it over and over for nearly an hour when the consulting detective finally sighed, turning to look at me. "What in God's name are you humming?"

"Have you never played London Bridge?" I asked him, setting the paper. "No, you probably wouldn't have. It's a game that children play and-"

"I know what it is," Sherlock snapped. " _Why_ are you humming it?"

"I…dreamed it. I think. It's a bit hazy now. But it's definitely stuck in my head." I decided to annoy him a bit for snapping at me. "London bridge is falling down, falling down, fa-"

His hand covered my mouth and my eyes widened in surprise. There was a glitter of happiness and triumph in his eyes and he snatched my notes up from the floor. "Yes. Yes, it all fits! Of course!"

"What? What are you-?"

"The _names_ Delilah. The names are the key! Your stupid rhyme…I love your stupid rhyme."

"Okay, I need you to slow down and explain to me what's going on."

He shoved the papers in my face. "Say the names out loud. Think about it. I know you're smart enough to figure this out. We've got planning to do. I'm certain I know the time of these fireworks as well."

"Mr. T. Oeur. It sounds like…it can't be." I looked at the rest of the names, sounding them out in my head. "Of course. The answer was in front of our faces the entire time. Tower Bridge is falling down. That's what their names mean sounded out. But the time? How do you know when?"

"Because when are the _fireworks_ going to go off? Delilah, dear, please use your brain a bit more. I know you're better than that."

"Was that a compliment from you Mr. Holmes?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow. "And I'm assuming you're thinking that it's going to be midnight or just before."

"When everyone is out and about and will be using the bridge, yes. They want the biggest impact, the biggest shock factor."

"What are we going to do then? How do we stop them?"

"Simple, my dear. We defuse the bomb."

I felt a shiver run down my spine. "I guess we'd better get started studying then."

* * *

Nine hours later and I was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking my fourth cup of tea. I was exhausted. Sherlock and I had stayed up studying bombs and how to defuse them. John had finally come home and Sherlock and I had both said hello to him before returning to our research. He'd checked my leg before shaking his head, heading to his room, no doubt going to type up an entry for his blog. I'd dozed off at some point, waking up with my head against Sherlock's leg. Now we were both sitting at the table, drinking tea and not saying a word.

"Should we tell John?" I asked in a low voice, looking around to make sure that he wasn't around.

"He'll only go to the authorities and try to stop us. The best thing we can do is keep him here or at least keep him away from the bridge. If we can't get it stopped-"

"If we can't get it stopped we're both dead, as well as the hundred or so people on that bridge trying to get home," I finished, staring into my mug. "I want these people dead, Sherlock. All of them. But I also don't want innocent people to get hurt in the process."

"That's what happens when we deal with people like this. Innocent people get hurt. You can't let that halt you from stopping the terrorists. If I let a few innocent deaths stop me from saving the greater good, then I would never be able to make it in this line of work." He paused before taking my hand. "There was something I wanted to talk to you about."

I felt my mouth go dry and I pulled my hand away from his. "What, Sherlock?"

"Well, once we've stopped them from blowing up the bridge and capture them, would you care to go to the shooting range again with me? Maybe get some fish and chips afterwards?"

"I…think we should keep our relationship strictly business, Sherlock. Once this case is solved and the terrorists taken down, I plan on leaving. I'll try to get my job as a paralegal once again and maybe even get my own flat." I watched as his eyes grew distant and he pulled his hands back to his lap. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. Christmas was a mistake. A bit too much wine I think."

"Yes. Yes, of course. What was I thinking? Perhaps we should tell John what's going on." Sherlock rose from the kitchen table quickly, heading to John's room.

I sat at the kitchen table, sighing heavily. The rain was pouring outside and I looked out to the gloomy grey sky of London. I could only hope that we were right in telling John what we'd found out. Sherlock came back with the good doctor a few minutes later and I could feel that there was something more going on than I knew about. John sat down next to me and Sherlock stood in the doorway.

"Sherlock says that you all have something to tell me?"

"Aye…that we do."

For the next forty five minutes I explained the entire situation to John, Sherlock only chiming in if he felt that I had missed something important. John kept quiet as we explained what was going on, but his expression grew darker and darker.

"I'm coming with you two," John said.

"No!" Sherlock and I both shouted in unison.

"And why the bloody hell not?"

"You and Mary need to keep safe," I said simply. "I on the other hand have nothing to lose. I don't know Sherlock's reasoning, but mine is that if anyone is going to defuse those explosives it should be me. I have no family left."

"And what about your friends? Jesus Delilah, you act as though no one on this earth cares about you."

"I know that you all do. But, if anyone is going to get blown up, it should be me. Sherlock, I should do this alone and you know it."

"No. It's my case. You brought it to me and I'm going to see it to the end."

I sighed. "Sherlock, your friends have already lost you once. Don't let them lose you again. They love you. Your family loves you. There's no need for you to get blown up after having just come back."

"I'm going with you."

I sighed, looking to John. "Do you want to keep your friend alive or do you want to watch him die?"

"I want to keep him alive of course," John said, leaning back in his chair to stare at me. "What sort of question is that?"

"The kind that I have to ask. God forgive me."

I was spinning quickly on the balls of my feet, striking up and into Sherlock's jaw. His eyes rolled back into his skull and he collapsed to the floor. John was shooting to his feet, going to Sherlock's side. "What in the bloody hell did you do that for?!"

"You want to keep your friend alive, right? I'm doing that for you. Thank you, John, for everything." I was exiting the kitchen before John could register everything that had happened. "Tell Mary I said thank you and that I'm sorry I couldn't see her wedding."

I grabbed my pack and the memory stick as well as my pistol. I tucked the gun into the waistband of my sweatpants while sliding my shoes onto my feet. I had about two more minutes to get out of the flat before Sherlock regained consciousness. I froze when I heard the sound of someone pulling the slide on a pistol back.

"John, he will be fine. I am saving your friend's life and all of you a lot of heartbreak. Let me go."

"You hurt him," John growled, but I could hear his voice waver. "Give us the memory stick and get out."

"I'm not going to do that John. Put a bullet in me if you need to, but I'm doing this for your own good. I'm not having an innocent man die on my watch and I'm not putting you or Mrs. Hudson through hell again." I turned to look at him, my hands in the air. "I've stayed with you for a while now. Do you think I would hurt him if I wasn't helping?"

I watched as John's hands trembled and he finally lowered the gun. I let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry John."

"Go. Before he wakes. I'll do my best to stop him from following you."

I nodded, tucking the memory stick in my shoe and slinging my pack onto my back before flinging the door open. I looked down at Sherlock's unconscious form on the kitchen floor. "I'm so sorry my friend."

I ran down the stairs of the flat, exiting quickly out onto the street. I needed to find a place to hole up before the action started, one where neither Sherlock nor my enemies would be able to find me. I had the perfect place in mind. I swiped a watch as I began to head in the direction of Tower Bridge.

* * *

11:45. I'd been watching everyone on that bridge come and go for a few hours. I'd been hiding in a sewer drain, doing my best to keep my leg out of the muck. I'd moved the memory stick to my bra so that it wouldn't get damaged. Every wail of a siren had set me on edge. Had John called the authorities? Had Sherlock? I knew it was getting close to the time, but I didn't want to head out onto the bridge until I was sure that they'd all left to watch the chaos.

I crawled out of the hole, making sure that the cap on my head was staying put. I'd dirtied my face up a bit, messed up my hair. I wanted to make sure I looked like a wandering beggar instead of the woman that had been at the pub with one Mr. F. Aling. I began to make my way towards the bridge, heading out onto the walkway. As I did so, I realized that there wasn't much foot traffic out on the bridge. Everyone was out celebrating at the pubs. That was a good thing.

As I made it to the middle of the bridge, my hair began to stand on end. Something wasn't right. A knot began to tie itself in the pit of my belly. A hand roughly grabbed my arm and I whirled around, fist pulled back. They grabbed my other arm and I began to struggle to break free.

"Haven't you hit me enough already today?"

"Sherlock! What are you-?"

"Doing here? Trying to save you from dying. You fool. They knew that you'd come to stop them. They planned this all out."

"What?" I whispered, horrified. "How did you figure that out?"

"Another transcript. I downloaded the information from the memory stick onto my computer. It was a hand-written message. On it was that stupid children's song and at the bottom was written _'She will come.'"_

"And come she did!" A man shouted. "Hello Delilah my dear. Long time no see."

Sherlock and I both turned to see a man standing in the middle of the bridge. I looked back to see that cars had blocked off our exit. The same was true for the other side of the bridge. I cursed. How could I have been so foolish?

"Agent Cormack, how good to see you again!" I shouted, going to step out into the middle of bridge, Sherlock right behind me. "Its been too long. About what, two years? How's that scar treating you?"

The man touched the scar on the side of his face. "Yes, about two years. How about your bullet wound? Has that healed?"

I grabbed the gun from the waistband of my pants, pointing it at him. "Aye it's healed. But I can guarantee you yours won't."

"Now now Delilah, is that any way to talk to an old friend? Especially an old friend who has something that you want." He motioned with his hand and I watched as two men began to bring a struggling figure forward, a black hood over their head. "Delilah, I know that we got off on the wrong foot, but maybe we can make amends. You see, I have something that you want. Something that you lost."

The struggling figure was brought to stand by Agent Cormack and he pulled the hood from off of their head. Sherlock had to catch me as my knees gave out. "Livvy?"

"Delilah? Delilah! Help me, please! Just give them what they want!" She was struggling against the men that held her and I struggled to keep my footing. "Delilah, please, I don't want to be with these mad men anymore. I want to go home!"

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "Please, don't hurt her. Please don't. I'll do anything."

"Delilah," Sherlock's voice was in my ear now. "Something isn't right about this. Let go of the emotion."

"That's my sister damn it!" I shouted at the man, eyes blazing. "I thought she was dead and now I can right the wrongs and you're not going to fucking stop me!"

"You're playing a dangerous game, Delilah. Think about this. I know you're bright. Turn off the emotions before you do something foolish." His voice was sharp, like the crack of a whip as it cut through my growing hysteria. "Why would they keep her alive this long? Think about it!"

I bit my lip, feeling confused and conflicted. "Why…why did you keep her alive this long? I thought she was dead."

"Del, please, don't ask any questions. Just get me out of here! Get me out of here and give them the memory stick so we can go home!"

A shudder ran down my spine. Something wasn't right. "Livvy…how did you know about the memory stick?"

"I…I overheard them in the car."

"She's lying." Sherlock drew his own weapon now, pointing it at my sister. "L, is it?"

I watched as my sister smiled, stepping away from the two men. The ropes fell to the ground and she began slow clapping. "Well well well, I was wondering when the great Sherlock Holmes would join the fun. Hello dear sister. Have you missed me?"

I suddenly felt nauseous. "Y-you? You're L? But…our father…"

"Our father was a foolish man who had the chance to do something great," my sister snarled, drawing her own weapon, pointing it at Sherlock. "He threw it all away for the greater good. The greater good of what? Of fools and swine? Of greedy politicians and injustice? We are _visionaries_ Delilah, looking to create a race of intelligent people. You could join us. You and Sherlock. Together we would be unstoppable."

"You had our father killed!" I shouted, the tears now streaming down my face even as I raised my gun. "You destroyed our family! You murdered him!"

"Now now sister. I had to do what was necessary. It's too bad that you can't see past your love for him. He was never there for us. He never took care of us the way he should have. All he did was train us to become human weapons. And you squandered your talents, becoming a paralegal, getting your own place. You would have been an amazing addition to my team."

"You bitch," I growled. "You fucking bitch. I grieved for you. I loved you, I protected you."

"Protected me from what? From our mother? You were as bad as our father, more pathetic even, trying to keep our broken little family together. And for what purpose? I found my family in my friends. The people mother said were the underbelly of London society. They became everything I needed and everything you all weren't." She turned the barrel of the gun onto me. "Good-bye sister."

The sound of helicopters startled all of us and I watched as three rose up on either side. I could tell by the yellow tops that they were metropolitan police helicopters. A familiar voice piped up on a megaphone.

"This is the London Police Department. Please drop your weapons and come quietly. We have you all surrounded," Detective Inspector Lestrade shouted.

"You told the authorities?" I muttered to Sherlock, refusing to drop my weapon.

"I had to. John insisted."

What happened next was a blur of motion. I watched as my sister pointed her gun at one of the helicopters. The sound of gunfire came from all directions and I felt Sherlock grabbing my hand. We began to run when I felt the heat of the explosion on my back. Sherlock and I went flying through the air, hitting the ground hard. I scrambled to my feet, helping Sherlock up. The bridge was groaning beneath our feet and I looked up to see four men standing in front of the cars still blocking our way. I fired the pistol, watching as one of them dropped. They turned their attention away from the police helicopters to us, firing their weapons. Sherlock and I managed to duck behind a pillar out of the way of the gun fire.

"Sherlock! The bridge!" I cried.

We both looked to see the bridge collapsing, a giant crack racing towards us. I looked around, trying to see if there was anything that we could do. It was either get shot or drown at this point. I grabbed Sherlock's phone from his pocket, finding Lestrade's number even as the bridge groaned again.

"This had better be goddamn important Sherlock!" He shouted into the phone.

"It is. I need you to get boats out on the river as soon as possible. Sherlock and I are pinned down and the bridge is collapsing. We're going to have to jump."

"Who is this?"

"Explanations later, no time. Just tell me you can have boats out on the water."

"Two minutes or less."

"Great." I hung up the call. "Sherlock, please tell me that you can swim?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Not a skill that I found useful."

"Well, I hope you can learn quickly because we don't have any other choice." The bridge was collapsing five feet from where we were standing. "I'm going to shoot at them. You jump for one of the cables and slide down it until you get down to the water. We only have to survive in it until police rescue comes. Count of three. One, two, three!"

I leaned out around the corner, taking aim at the men firing at us. I took out one, the police helicopter taking out another. I could see Sherlock behind me, making a running leap, grabbing one of the cables. He was sliding down too quickly though and I could see the panic in his eyes. I was running after him, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my jacket so that I wouldn't hurt my hands.

I reached down, barely getting my grip even as I grabbed Sherlock's hand. He looked up at me, sheer terror in his eyes as we dangled thirty feet above the rushing water below. I could see the far-off lights of the police boats. I looked up, watching as the concrete above us began to crumble.

"Sherlock, do you trust me?" I shouted down to him over the gunfire.

"It doesn't look like I have much choice, does it?" He shouted back.

"When I let go, try to make yourself as vertical as possible when entering the water. Make sure your knees are slightly bent or else you may break your legs. Keep your arms tucked in at your side. Can you do that?"

"Yes. When are we going to drop?"

"Now!"

I let go of the cable and we both began to plummet towards the water. I looked up to see Olivia standing at the edge, gun aimed at us. If a bullet was going to hit me, it would hit me. I closed my eyes, letting my head drop, arms tucked in at my sides.

Hitting the water was like running into a brick wall. It stunned me and the cold of the water didn't help. I felt a hand clawing at my ankle and I grabbed for Sherlock, kicking upwards against the current. I struggled with him, realizing how much dead weight he actually was. I felt my lungs burning, my head spinning. His movements were slowing and I knew that I had to get us to the surface or we were both going to die at the bottom of the Thames.

The current was awful, my worst enemy in this case. But my head managed to break the surface and I coughed and spluttered, somehow dragging Sherlock's limp form up beside me. His body was still, his face pale, lips blue. I brushed the hair from his face, kicking against the current to keep us afloat, my arms wrapped underneath his, keeping his head cradled against my chest. A spotlight swung onto us and I felt hands grabbing me.

"Help him," I croaked. "He's not breathing, help him!"

"Miss, you need to calm down," one of the officers said, holding me back from going to Sherlock as they dragged him onto the boat.

"No I will not calm down! He's not _breathing!_ "

"We'll be to the paramedics shortly. They'll be able to resuscitate him there."

"What about now?! Jesus, let me through!" I shoved the officer out of the way, going to kneel beside Sherlock's still form. "Oh God, I've got no clue."

 _'Keeping calm is the first thing you need to do,'_ my father's voice said in my head. _'If you're panicked you can't help them. First thing's first, check for a pulse and for breathing.'_

I pressed two fingers to Sherlock's neck, finding no pulse there. I tilted his head back, listening for breathing and finding nothing. _'What now?'_

 _'Two breaths. Tilt their head back, pinch their nose with one hand, using your other to open their mouth. Wrap your lips around theirs and breathe until you see their chest rise. If you don't see this, re-position their head and make certain that their airway isn't blocked.'_

I did that, watching as Sherlock's chest rose and fell. The officers on board the boat were watching even as we raced to shore where the multi-colored lights were winking in and out, signaling our salvation. I looked up at the men on the boat. "Aren't any of you going to help?"

"Well, we're trying to get you to shore as quickly as possible. And we have to stay on guard until we're out of bullet range."

"Some help you are."

 _'Stop arguing and start chest compressions,'_ my father's voice snapped in my mind. _'The more time you waste, the less likely he is to survive. Hands between the nipples, press hard and fast. Thirty compressions, two breaths. Go!'_

I placed my hands in the center of Sherlock's chest, pressing down, watching as water bubbled up from between his blue lips. I pressed hard and fast, ignoring the cracking and popping that I was hearing. I gave him two more breaths before continuing compressions. The shore was looming closer. I could almost see the faces of the paramedics. I gave him two more breaths even as we began to pull up to the shore. I began compressions again.

"You are not going to die on me Sherlock. I'm not allowing it!"

I leaned down to give him two more breaths. I could hear John on the shore, letting out a cry of fear. "Let me through! Let me through, I'm a doctor! God damn it, let me through!"

I began another round of compressions even as John made his way down the embankment to our boat, leaping aboard. "How long has he been down?"

"I don't know, five minutes at most?"

John took over compressions. "Two more breaths."

I did as I was told, watching as the paramedics slowly made their way down the embankment. As John gave more compressions, I leaned down, feeling the tears slipping down my face. It didn't matter that I was cold, that my entire body was sore. I pressed my forehead to Sherlock's temple.

"Please don't die on me Sherlock. I'm so sorry. So sorry. Come back," I whispered in his ear. "We can't lose you. I can't lose you."

"Two breaths."

I tilted Sherlock's head back, giving him a breath. I watched as his chest rose and fell. I gave him the second and as his chest began to fall, he gave a weak cough. John rolled him onto his side, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe that worked."

"I can't either," I replied, watching as Sherlock took a large gasp for air. "Sherlock…can you hear me?"

"Of….course…." he coughed out and I couldn't help but laugh.

"You stubborn bastard. I told you not to come."

There was no reply and I watched as an unconscious yet breathing Sherlock was loaded onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance. John helped me to my feet and I felt my legs give out, pain rocketing through me. The darkness was creeping into my vision even as John laid me down on the bottom of the boat.

"Stay with me Delilah. Come on now girl, stay with me. I need a medic over here!"

The world faded around me and I sunk into the realm of unconsciousness, the last thing floating through my mind the image of my sister pointing a gun at me.

* * *

"Delilah, wake up."

I stirred, hearing a familiar and grating beeping in my ears. I groaned, not wanting to move. A hand touched my shoulder and my eyes fluttered open. I turned my head to see Sherlock sitting next to me. "Am I dead?"

Sherlock chuckled. "No, not dead. In a hospital, but far from dead. Glad to see you've finally woken up. I'm surprised you weren't awake before I was. Then again, sleep seems to be more suited for you than me."

"So, I'm not dead and neither are you?"

"Nope. Your quick thinking kept me alive and breathing. John says I have you to thank for saving my life."

"I didn't do much of anything really. John did most of the hard work."

"From what he says, the officers on that boat weren't doing anything and you were doing all of the work despite your broken ribs and concussion."

"Broken- are you serious?"

Sherlock nodded. "Very. You're not the only one. I've got a couple of cracked ribs from yours and John's chest compressions."

I blushed. "It was all John, really."

He took my hand and I felt my heart skip a beat in my chest. "Delilah, I know differently. Don't lie to me. I can tell when you are."

"Why are you being so nice?"

"Because I'm trying to thank you and you're making it very difficult for me," Sherlock said exasperatedly. "I don't say it often so would you please let me get it out instead of trying to say it was someone else?"

I was taken aback by his brusqueness, but nodded. "If that's what you need to say then say it."

Sherlock inched forward in his chair, wincing only slightly. "Delilah McKinley, I wish to thank you for what you did. Saving my life on that bridge and in that boat was no easy feat. Surviving the water of the Thames was also no easy feat. I owe you."

I shook my head, smiling and taking his hand. "Sherlock, you owe me nothing. All I want is for us to solve this case and to stop my sister. Even though we're both fairly injured, I think we can still stop it."

"Are you sure? I don't think you're ready for another confrontation with her."

"Maybe not yet," I replied. "But I think I can learn from you to make me ready, to turn off my emotions in regard to her. If you'd be willing to teach me of course."

Sherlock seemed to ponder this before giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll be willing to consider it if you'll teach me how to swim once it doesn't hurt to breathe anymore."

I smiled at him. "It's a deal."

Despite everything that had happened, the broken ribs, discovering my sister was alive, I was at peace. And I felt that it would remain that way so long as Sherlock was by my side. I looked up at him, finding his blue-green eyes staring into my face.

"What is it?"

"Do you want to grab some fish and chips when they let you out of here?"

"Sure Sherlock. Whatever you'd like to do."

"Alright then. Let me see if I can hunt up that damnable doctor so we can get going."

Sherlock left the room and I sighed, leaning back against the pillows. I had a feeling that things were about to be very different in my life now that Sherlock was going to be around. And for some reason, I didn't mind that. I didn't mind that at all.


	7. Chapter 7: A Lull in the Investigation

***Hello again lovelies! I decided to dedicate my entire weekend to writing, so don't be surprised if I post another chapter today. I felt that after the last chapter, things needed to slow down a little bit on the case front, focus a bit more on how the characters were doing. And seeing as both Delilah and Sherlock are injured, they shouldn't be overdoing things. I hope you all are enjoying it and I'm sorry that this chapter was so short. The next one will be a bit longer and I will say that within the next couple of chapters, there *might* be a bit of a smut scene. So if you've been waiting for that, the wait may be over soon. As always, reviews are welcome and I hope you all enjoy!***

* * *

 **Chapter 7: A Lull in the Investigation**

It was two weeks after Tower Bridge had been partially destroyed. Lestrade had been over to the flat several times, as had a few higher ups from the government. They wanted all of the information that we had. I gave them the ruined memory stick and they were all hoping that they could recover the information. Sherlock and I had both silently agreed that we wouldn't give them the information on his laptop. The anti-terror task force had been disbanded and all members suspended pending investigation. Apparently Sherlock had found dates as well as video footage of the group gathering, getting images of all of the men and evidence that they'd been plotting this terror attack for years.

I was somewhat glad that the government knew about this plot. It meant that I could relax. But I couldn't help but be suspicious of any gentleman or lady that Sherlock didn't know. Today Lestrade was set to come over with a sketch artist so we could get portraits out to the media of the men as well as the video footage. I was dreading it, knowing that it meant hours of sitting there, recounting every detail of the men who'd made my life hell.

 _'And woman,'_ I thought to myself, feeling the damnable tears touch my eyes once more. _'God damn it, I don't understand how she could do this.'_

"Delilah?"

My head jerked up to see John standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "I'm sorry John, I wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

"I was seeing if you wanted to come down to the market with me. You've been cooped up inside for two weeks now."

I shook my head. "Lestrade said he was coming over today to do some sketches of the men. Where's Sherlock?"

"Out, although he didn't say where. I told him to take it easy on his ribs. You know how he is." John crossed to me, a frown on his face as he sat next to me. "Look, I know things haven't been easy on you lately, but you really need to get out of the house. The market is right down the street. Lestrade has both mine and Sherlock's number. He can call us if he gets here and no one's home. Come out with me."

"I'm fine. Really. I need a little more time to process and heal is all. Maybe we can go out tomorrow instead." I forced a smile. "All of us can go to lunch or something. You, me, Mary, and Sherlock."

John sighed. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that. You need to get out of this flat."

"I will. I just…need time."

He got up from the couch, nodding his head. "If you need someone to talk to, I can always ask my therapist if they're taking new patients."

"I'm fine," I snapped. I tried to soften my tone as John raised an eyebrow at me. "I promise you, I'm fine. As I said, I need time. Another day and I'll be right as rain."

John put a phone down on the coffee table. "We got this for you. Our numbers are already programmed in. If you need anything and I mean anything, text us or, better yet, call us."

I picked it up off the table, smiling. "Thank you. You two have been most kind to me."

"Well, of course. You saved Sherlock's life."

"So did you."

"Yeah, well, you did most of the work. And…I never thanked you for that, for saving my best friend. So…thanks."

"Any time John. I'd rather he not die after you got him back. I can see how close you two are. You're like brothers. And I'd hate for you to lose one another. Now go to the market. I'll be fine, I promise. More than likely I'm going to sleep until you come back or Lestrade knocks on the door."

"Alright. Well, as I said, you've got our numbers, so if you need to get ahold of us, don't hesitate."

John got up from the couch, heading out the door, locking it behind him. I sighed, looking out the window. I could only wonder what Sherlock was doing. I'd found that my mind had been coming back to him more and more often. Ever since the bridge, he'd been a bit…kinder to me. I couldn't understand why. The thief comments had stopped and so had the personal attacks. He still ignored me for most of the day, but when we did speak, the conversation didn't end in an argument.

I laid down on the couch, closing my eyes. I needed to at least take a nap before Lestrade came. I hadn't been sleeping well ever since the bridge. I drifted off into a restless slumber.

* * *

"Wake up Del. We need to talk."

I woke up, shivering as a cold breeze blew through the flat. Wait. A cold breeze? I sat up quickly, seeing my sister sitting in Sherlock's chair. There was a gun in her hand pointed straight at me. I turned slowly, my eyes never leaving hers. Her red hair was tied up in a neat bun and there was a smirk on her lips. I began to stand up but she shook her head, motioning for me to keep seated.

"How are you feeling Del? I heard that you broke a couple of ribs from your fall and had a concussion. Tore some muscles too if I read your chart correctly."

"What are you doing here Olivia?"

"Why, I came to check on my older sister, see how she was doing. See if maybe she'd reconsidered my offer."

"I'm not joining you and your stupid organization," I growled, glaring at her. "Why did you join them? You're better than them."

"Because I saw what it was like working with the agency, all the bullshit and politics. I saw that I could save the world from the bureaucracy. Do you know how many innocent people died because some politician didn't want to give us funding? How many of my men died because some bill didn't get passed giving us better weapons and equipment?" Her voice was bitter and I could see the hatred in her green eyes. "We decided to change it. All of it. We had access to weapons and technology. A gun gets lost here, a computer there. We gathered and plotted and planned to take down the government. And I can't do it alone. I need your help, your passion."

"Olivia, you're talking to the wrong person. I've always been on the good side of the law."

"Is that so? Because some of my people have some evidence that says otherwise. Very incriminating evidence if I may say so." She reached into her pocket, producing a disc. "You see, I have quite a few break-ins on this disc, as well as you pick-pocketing people on the streets. I think I have enough here to put you away for the full sentence as well."

"You had me followed?"

"No. But it is amazing what people's home security cameras pick up and what a little fingerprint analysis can do." My sister smiled, tucking the disc back into her pocket. "You know, it broke my heart destroying that bridge. That was the one thing I actually enjoyed in this god forsaken city."

"It was your choice to do it. Olivia, it doesn't have to be this way. You could walk away, not do this. You're a good girl, I know you are. I know you don't want to do this."

Olivia chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh but I do. Believe me I do. You've got two months to make a decision on whether you'll join or end up in prison. Until then, we'll be working on our machine and waiting for your reply. I'll send you word on where to meet." She got up from the chair, going to the window. "Oh, and Delilah dear, if you value the life of your boyfriend, I suggest you not tell him where you're going when we meet again."

She disappeared out the window and I rushed to it to see where she'd gone. But she'd vanished into thin air. I sighed, staring out across the city. What was I going to do? She had enough evidence to put me away for fourteen years, to ruin my name and any chance that I could have at a normal life.

"Company?"

I nearly jumped out of the window at the sound of Sherlock's voice. I whirled around to see him standing in the living room staring at me, arms crossed. "Well? Did you have company or were you enjoying the January air?"

I closed the window, letting out a sigh of frustration. "She came to visit."

"I'm assuming by she you mean your sister." I heard him sit down in his chair.

"Who else would it be?" I snapped, hand opening and closing into a fist. "That bitch is blackmailing me to join her."

"How?"

"She has evidence of my breaking into people's homes and stealing. Said that if I didn't join her, she'd turn it over to the authorities." I turned to see Sherlock still staring at me. "Well, go on and say it. Call me a thief. Tell me I should have known that this was going to happen. Go on. I'm waiting."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you any of those things. The way that I see it, you had to do what you did to survive. And I think if we solve this case, the department may be willing to overlook a few break-ins, so long as you didn't hurt anyone."

"No! I always made certain no one would come home while I was in. I never wanted to hurt anyone and I only stole what I needed, nothing more."

"Then it comes down to us solving this case and capturing your sister alive."

"Us?"

"Well, of course. You're as much invested in this case as I am."

"I didn't think you were one for cooperation."

"And I'm not. But so long as you stay out of my way when I'm thinking we shouldn't have any problems." Sherlock gave me a small smile. "You know, we still haven't gone out to lunch."

"I'm waiting for-"

A knock came at the door, startling us both. Sherlock got up from the chair, looking through the peephole before opening the door. Detective Inspector Lestrade entered, a portly little man waddling in behind him, a sketchpad and pencil case tucked under one arm.

"Lestrade, I wasn't expecting you until later," Sherlock said and I could hear the impatience in his voice. "Delilah and I were about to get some lunch."

"Well, you'll have to put that off for a bit. This is the only time I could get the sketch artist over here. We'll be done in a couple of hours at most. Oh and I have a bit of news for you as well. We've identified three of the bodies pulled from the Thames. You would probably know them as Agent Cormack, Agent Tomlin, and Lionel Understone. Or, as they were in that transcript, B. Redge, T. Oeur, and Ess."

"So, there are still others?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, we're still trolling the Thames for bodies, but as of right now, yes, there are still others, including your sister." The detective fixed me with a cold stare. "You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you Ms. McKinley?"

"Not a clue," I replied. "Now, could we please get this over with? I'm tired and my ribs are hurting me."

For the next three hours I sat on the couch, going over what I knew and who I could remember from my time in the organization. The gentleman showed me each sketch as he finished and, while they were crude, I could see who the men were. Lestrade sat next to me on the couch as I spoke and Sherlock hovered near the kitchen, as did John when he returned from the market. They finally finished and I felt exhausted. It had been years since I'd had to remember what their faces looked like. But, perhaps this would help to finally catch the bastards.

"Oh, one more thing before I leave," Lestrade said as he tucked his phone into his pocket. "I don't suppose you have a photo of your sister that we could take?"

"Why on earth would I?" I asked. "Besides, any photo that I would have would be well over four years old and would be of no use to you. Use one of the photos online of her."

Lestrade sighed. "We could do that. We were only hoping that maybe you had a more recent photo."

I grew suspicious of him almost immediately. "Do you think that I've seen her since before the bridge?"

"I think that that's a possibility, yes."

I began to tremble with rage and I could see both John and Sherlock starting forward to usher the detective and the sketch artist out. "Are you serious? I thought she was _dead_ you son of a bitch. I thought that she had been burned alive in London's streets and now you're implying that I _knew_ she was alive? I have done nothing but cooperate with you all since the day I regained consciousness!" I began to cross towards the detective, feeling the rage coursing through my veins. Sherlock caught me around the waist. "Fuck you Lestrade! You and your whole department! I knew that giving you this case was a bad idea. Thinking that I'd be in with those bastards! Fuck off and don't fucking come back. I'm done with you all!"

I struggled against Sherlock's grip, but he held me tight even as John forced Lestrade and the artist out the door. I cursed Sherlock even as he held me. He let go once John had locked the door and I whirled on him. "Don't ever fucking hold me back again."

"What were you going to do, hit him?" Sherlock seemed amused by my anger and that only fanned the flames of my rage.

"Maybe it would have knocked some sense into him!" I snarled. "All of you thinking that I'd join them. Fucking ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous!"

I stormed down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. My fist connected with the wall and I sunk down to my knees, doubled over despite the pain in my ribs. The tears were flowing from my eyes now, dropping onto the tile floor. She had ruined everything. I regretted every tear I'd ever shed over her death, every time I'd vowed vengeance when _she_ was the one who'd caused everything.

I couldn't even stifle the sob that ripped from my throat even as I curled into a small ball, clutching at my sides, holding myself tight. I felt like a fool, an absolute fool. How had I not seen it? How had I not known that she had been the one to plan all of it?

I was so hurt, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I could trust no one, not even my family. I wanted to curl up into a dark hole and die. I was so ashamed of myself, of my choices. I heard the sound of someone unlocking the door, but I couldn't even be bothered to look up from my place on the floor. A hand touched my shoulder and I curled tighter into my ball.

"That can't be comfortable," Sherlock murmured. "I'm feeling pain in my own ribs just looking at you."

"Go…away…" I choked out, fighting a sob. "Just…go away."

"I'm not going anywhere until you calm down. The last thing we need is for you to have an asthma attack in the bathroom." Sherlock tried to pull me into his arms, but I refused to budge. "Please stop being stubborn. This hurts me as much as it hurts you."

I sat up, looking at him through blurry eyes. "Why are you trying to be kind to me? You're the most suspicious of the bunch."

"I saw you up on that bridge, Delilah. I caught you when your legs were giving out at the sight of her. I saw the sheer devastation and the pain, the rage and the determination to bring her down. I have no doubts as to whose side you're on." He took my hand. "Now come here. I don't offer a shoulder to cry on often."

I felt the flood gates completely open and I let out a cry of anguish even as I threw myself into Sherlock's arms. He hissed in pain, but his hand reached up to rub my back. He pulled me close to him and I buried my face into his shoulder, my arms wrapping around his waist tightly. I didn't want to let go of him. I felt as if I would break apart should I let go. I sobbed against him, letting out all of the emotion that had been pent up inside of me for two weeks since I'd seen her face. I could tell that Sherlock was uncomfortable, but he seemed to be making an actual effort to sooth me.

When my ribs began to pulse with pain, I finally sat up, wiping at my eyes with the palms of my hands. "You must think me a fool."

Sherlock shrugged. "I knew you were an emotional person, despite you trying your best to hide it. It was only a matter of time before you broke down. Let's get up off the floor. I think John is fixing supper."

"Can he even cook?" I asked, shoving myself up from the floor, wincing at the sharp pain. "I mean, I don't think I've ever seen him in that kitchen."

"I believe Mary has been teaching him a bit here and there," Sherlock replied, grabbing the sink to help himself up. "Why don't you wash up first, compose yourself a bit? I'll be out in the living room looking through more of the transcripts."

Sherlock left the room and I sighed, closing the door once more. I looked at myself in the mirror, wincing at the sight. My eyes were bloodshot, my hair a mess. I splashed cold water on my face, pressing my fingers to my eyes. God, what on earth had I gotten myself into? I felt as though I were going to throw up and pass out all at once. I took a few deep breaths before looking up into the mirror again. I shook my head.

"There's no way that I can do this. No way."

 _'But you have to. For me. My blood runs in your veins and you must stop this madness,'_ my father's voice said in my head. _'I know that she is your sister. She was my daughter and she betrayed me. Avenge me.'_

"Okay papa," I whispered. "I'll do it. I'll avenge you."

I brushed my hair slowly, my arms aching still from the swim in the river. Olivia had been right when she'd said I'd torn a few muscles fighting the current. I hadn't noticed until I'd gotten back to the flat and John had forced me to go back to the hospital to get looked over and make certain that they hadn't missed any possible broken bones beside my ribs. They hadn't and it was determined that I'd pulled a few muscles in my arms and legs. I'd been given pain medicine that I hadn't touched. I didn't want to cloud my mind with drugs.

I finished, tying my hair up into a ponytail. Mary had been kind enough to buy me hair ties for Christmas and I'd been using them nearly every day to keep my mane of hair out of my face. I looked at myself once more, the only hint that I'd been crying the pink in my cheeks. I exited the bathroom, limping down the hall to find both Sherlock and John in the kitchen in a heated debate.

"Problems with dinner?"

"Yes. Sherlock's trying to tell me how to cook."

"Well, I could smell something burning."

"It was the garlic, Sherlock. Go back to studying. Cooking doesn't interest you anyway. Honestly, Sherlock, must you always know everything?"

"I was merely trying to make certain that you weren't catching the flat on fire."

"Go and sit down. Both of you. Unless you want to chop up some vegetables for me?"

"I'll help you John," I said, going to the knife drawer to find a cutting knife. "What all do you need chopped?"

"Broccoli, onions, and carrots. I'm making a stir-fry. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Sherlock, you need to rest." The man opened his mouth to retort, but I held up my hand. "Seriously, you've been busier than I have lately. Go and sit down. Rest. I don't want to have to knock you unconscious again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine. But try not to burn anything down."

He retreated to his room, muttering under his breath. I smiled as I heard him begin to play the violin. "Haven't heard that in a while. So…what were you two arguing about before I got in here?"

"My cooking. I wasn't joking with you when I said that he was trying to inspect what I was doing." John stirred the chicken in the pan. "I don't know when he became obsessed with the things at home."

"What do you mean?" I questioned, chopping the carrots into bite-size chunks.

"Well, take the other day for example when you were down at the station for questioning. He began to ask me if we should invest in a futon. A futon for Christ's sake. And then he began to poke through the fridge, throwing away anything that was even close to going out of date. It's part of the reason why I had to go to the market today." John sighed. "I suppose it's a nice change of pace for him, but it's still irritating. I'm not used to this side of Sherlock. He even did the dishes. I have to wonder how much brain damage he sustained from oxygen deprivation."

"It does seem a bit out of character for him. I always saw you as more of the neat freak and the homebody." I dumped the carrots into the pan with the chicken as I finished chopping them. "I wonder what has gotten into him."

John shot me a glance. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"It's so strange for this to be coming out of my mouth because in the past few years I've never known him to be this way…but I think he fancies you. If I had to make a guess as to why he was behaving this way, I think he likes having you around and he doesn't want you to leave because of something wrong with the flat." John lowered his voice. "He has been asking me all sorts of questions about how Mary and I met and how I knew that she was the one I wanted to be with. He has _never_ asked me those kinds of personal questions."

I blushed, dropping the knife to the floor. I bent down to get it, rinsing it off in the sink. "Are you…you're serious aren't you?"

"Very. He has been much more anxious lately and a bit more snappish, except when he's around you. I don't know what you did to him or what happened on that bridge, but ever since then, he has been changed. At least when you're around anyway."

I was quiet as I chopped up the broccoli and the onions. I dumped them into the pan as well. I washed the cutting board and knife quickly before looking at John, who was focusing on not burning the food. "I think I'll go and talk to Sherlock. How long until the food is done?"

"Another fifteen minutes or so. Have fun. And don't mention anything that I said to him. I'd rather not have another confrontation with him."

I nodded. "Of course. The things we've spoken about stay between us. That's how it works."

John flashed me a grin. "Yes, that's how it works around here. Now go and talk to him, see if you can figure out what's going on."

I limped out of the room, heading down the hall to the room where the music was coming from. I found Sherlock sitting on the edge of his bed, the instrument tucked under his chin, the bow sliding gracefully back and forth across the strings. I felt hypnotized by his playing and I sat down in front of him, watching him play. His eyes were closed and I could tell that he was focusing on the notes, but for the first time since I'd come to stay with them, he seemed completely at peace.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked, not stopping his playing.

"I wished to speak with you."

"Well then speak."

"I, erm, well-"

"You wish to know if I have feelings for you and want to get to know you on a more intimate level."

I blushed. "How did you know?"

"Do you really have to ask that?" Sherlock asked, a smirk on his lips even as he continued to play, not bothering to look at me. "Your hesitation is what gave it away. That and there wouldn't be any other reason for you to invade my private space, aside from asking me a personal question. So, now I have to ask you, do you want the truth or do you want me to be easy about my answer?"

"I would prefer the truth. And I highly doubt you could give me anything other than that anyway. I don't think you're capable of softening any blows."

He stopped playing, setting the instrument down on the bed next to him. "Are you certain you want to know?"

"Yes."

He got down onto the floor, sitting in front of me, taking my hands in his. "You intrigue me, Delilah. I find myself wanting to learn more and more about you. And that's not something that I ever want to do with any one person. You cross my mind more often in a day than you should. I don't know why either, which is part of what's bothering me about this entire thing." He reached up to touch my cheek. "I find your spirit, your personality both frustrating and enlightening. You have things to teach me that I don't think anyone else could. You're passionate and caring and headstrong. We clash constantly and yet I feel comfortable with you. I'm not one for confessing things, you've seen that. But with you, I feel that you listen to me, you pay attention. I feel like…" He seemed to be at a loss for words and I watched as he frowned with his frustration.

"You feel like I see you," I murmured, pressing my cheek into his hand. "I see you, Sherlock Holmes and it confuses you because the only other people who have seen you are people who have been around you for years. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, John. It took them years to see the good man in you, whereas it has only taken me a month." I gave him a smile, finding those enchanting eyes locked onto my face. "Do I frighten you Sherlock Holmes?"

"Very much so."

"Good. Because you frighten me too. And I don't know where this adventure is going to take us. But…I don't think I'd mind going on it with you."

He began to lean towards me and I closed my eyes, feeling my heart beginning to race even as his lips hovered over mine. We both jerked away from each other as my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket, looking down at the number I vaguely recognized.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Delilah McKinley?" A woman asked on the other end of the line.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Delilah…it's your mother."


	8. Chapter 8: Family Reunion

***Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay. The chapter turned out to be a bit longer than I expected. I ~really~ can't wait to write the next chapter. I hope everyone is enjoying and I'm trying my best to write longer chapters for you guys, just in case I can't update frequently. Have a wonderful week and I will talk to you lovelies in the next chapter!***

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Family Reunion**

Nearly a month ago I'd received a phone call from my mother. Now I was on my way to go visit her, Sherlock and John by my side as they had both insisted that they come with. I was sandwiched between them on the train, Sherlock staring out the window and John texting away on his phone.

I had been wrong when I'd told Sherlock that my mother still lived in London. I hadn't known that she'd moved to Radlett, or that she'd gotten remarried and had two step-children with the man. I couldn't help but feel a bit of anger at the idea that someone had entrusted their children with her, although while on the phone with her, she'd sworn to me that she'd cleaned herself up and gotten sober.

"How's Mary?" I asked John, wanting to break the silence. "I haven't heard you talk about her in a while."

"Good. She's preparing for the wedding. She's so excited about it. Actually, she wanted me to ask you if you'd like to come dress shopping with her on Saturday. It'll be later on in the day, as she and I will be going out to eat for Valentine's day and we'll more than likely sleep in that morning." He gave me a wink and I blushed. "But she said that she'd love it if you came with her."

"Of course. Actually, I'll text her and let her know." I reached into my pocket, grabbing the phone that I'd been given a month ago. Had it really been that long? "Let's see...ah, here she is. So around eleven thirty would be good for you both?"

"Perfect."

I typed away on the keyboard before sending it. "And done. I wanted to thank you both for coming with me, even though I didn't need an escort.

"Must you always thank people for doing simple things? Neither John nor I was doing anything important today." Sherlock sounded impatient and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What on earth is wrong with you?"

"I need to stretch my legs," he said brusquely, getting to his feet. "You two have fun chatting about nothing important."

He got up, walking down the aisle before going into the next compartment. I looked to John who shrugged. "He has been off all day. I'm not sure why."

"Probably because he's still healing," I replied, feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket. I slid it open, reading the message from Mary. "Mary said that that was fine and that I had to promise not to send you any pictures of her in her gown. And she said I should ask you about the clinic. What's she talking about?"

"Well, I figured that since you'll be staying with us for another month or so, I could offer you a job at the clinic. It would only be part-time, but you'd be answering phones, scheduling appointments. Our front desk clerk quit and I thought that you would be perfect for the job." John gave me a small smile. "Mary and I would both be very happy if you did and I'll put in the good word for you so you get hired."

"Would you…really? John that would be wonderful! Of course I will!" I was excited. I hadn't had an actual _job_ in nearly four years. "When do I start?"

John laughed. "Well, first you have to interview. But I can schedule that for tomorrow morning if you'd like. Now I will say, if you take this job, you'll have to be certified in CPR and basic first-aid in case someone comes in very hurt or collapses in the waiting room, but that shouldn't take too long."

"Wait, does that happen?" I felt my eyes go wide. "I'd have to deal with dying people?"

"It has before. Not at the clinic I work at, but I've heard stories."

"Oh great," I muttered. "Fine. Will you teach me?"

"I can't certify you, but I can teach you some tricks I've picked up over the years."

I felt my phone vibrate in my hand. I opened it. Strange. It was from Sherlock.

 _Third car from the front. Come quick, be quiet._

 _Bring John and weapon. Hurry._

 _Could be dangerous._

 _SH_

I nudged John's arm, flashing him the message. We both got to our feet and began to move quietly through the car. I opened the door, motioning for John to go in. I followed him, keeping low. I could see Sherlock two cars ahead of us through the glass, standing in front of someone. I also noted that there was no one else on the train. I could have sworn that I'd seen a few other people get on after us though. How odd.

We made it to the outside of the car that Sherlock was occupying and I pulled the gun out of the waistband of my jeans, making a mental note that I needed to invest in a holster if I was going to carry the pistol around with me. I nodded to John and he opened the door, going through to train his weapon on the person Sherlock was speaking to. I stepped through, freezing as I saw who was sitting calmly in front of us.

"Hello sister. Going to visit dear old mummy for the day?" Olivia asked me coolly. "It's a shame you didn't invite me along. I wanted to meet her new husband and adorable little children."

"What are you doing here Olivia?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Well, I came to remind you that you have a month to answer my question. That's all." She rolled her eyes. "Could you please call off your guard dog? Having guns in my face is not conducive to an open and honest discussion."

"Are you kidding me? I'm not lowering my weapon," John growled and I watched out of the corner of my eye as his grip tightened.

"That's a shame. Tell me Dr. Watson, do you enjoy having meningitis?"

"What?"

"She rigged the train," Sherlock murmured. "That's why there's no one here except for us. That's why you let me see you."

"Very good Sherlock. I'm surprised it took you this long. Looks like I lost my bet with Aling. Damn. Now, if you three would be kind enough to lower your weapons, I will not press the button that will release the gas into the car."

I slowly lowered my gun, tucking it into my waistband once more. "Do as she says. Both of you. She's not bluffing."

Both Sherlock and John lowered their guns, John still glaring at Olivia. My sister clapped with glee. "Oh good, you've got them trained already. Now, why don't we sit and chat for a bit? We've still got about twenty minutes before we arrive. We can get to know one another."

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, sitting down across from her. "Why are you making yourself so known to us?"

"She wants to get under your skin Delilah. Don't let her," Sherlock explained and my sister smiled, green eyes glittering with glee.

"You picked a smart one. About time. I thought you'd be a virgin forever." I felt my face heat up. "Oh, did he not know? Silly me, I forgot that you'd made me promise to keep that secret. So, aren't you going to ask how I managed to make it airborne so quickly?" I kept quiet. "Well? Not curious at all? Not even you Sherlock? John, your medical mind must be wanting answer. Nobody wants an explanation?"

"How did you manage it?" I said through gritted teeth, knowing that she would keep pestering us if we didn't ask.

"Quite simple really. You made the mistake of giving the memory stick to a very slow-witted man. I followed him, bashed him over the head a couple of times, and swapped the memory stick with a blank copy once he was unconscious. When they couldn't find the information on it, they assumed it was because you'd gotten it wet. We managed to recover all of the data and assembled a prototype of the machine. Actually, we assembled two prototypes, one that I put onto this train," she pulled up a video on her phone, showing a live feed to us, "and one that I put into a train heading for Paris. Now I'm giving you all a choice. Either I pump this car full of vapor that contains meningitis or I pump that entire train full of malaria. Your call. Either way I'm protected and people will die."

"You fucking cunt," I snarled. "How could you do this?"

"Quite simple. Install it and the canisters into the ventilation system and make it so that I have remote access from my phone." She laughed maniacally and I felt the panic begin to rise in my chest, twisting its way around my heart. "So, what's it going to be? You? Or the couple hundred people on that train?"

"John…which one is worse?" I asked, feeling the tears coming.

"Well, meningitis is more likely to kill us, but malaria will spread faster from person to person. And depending on who's on that train will also depend on the death count. I…I'm not sure. Sherlock?"

I looked to him, seeing his face cold, his eyes calculating. What could he be thinking? "We choose the other train."

"Sherlock! You can't be serious! All those people?" John asked. "No, choose us. Choose us!"

"Too late," my sister replied, smirking. "Now, I'm done talking with you all. Go back to your own car. We'll talk soon Del."

I felt sick to my stomach. All those people were going to become very ill, perhaps even die now. I walked on shaky legs back to where we'd been sitting early. I sat down, putting my head in my hands. "Sherlock, how could you choose those other people? If we got treatment right away-"

"They rigged it wrong."

"What?" I looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise. "But, how could you possible know that?"

"I'll tell you when we're off this train. I would rather she not hear my explanation. I will be calling Lestrade and informing him about it so that the proper containment procedures can be taken in Paris." Sherlock grabbed his phone from his pocket. "Oh and Molly just text me. The results came back on that fluid."

"And?" John and I both asked in unison.

"It was water."

"Are you serious? Well that's bloody fantastic," John groaned, sitting down next to me.

"Yes, there was no virus in there. But, you did say that they knew we were coming Delilah, so they more than likely wouldn't bring a vial that we could study. False alarm."

I looked at John, who was shaking his head incredulously. "Are you doing alright?"

"No, I'm not. Either Sherlock's right or we sentenced an entire train to what could possibly be a miserable death. I'm hoping it's the first thing because I doubt I could live with myself if it was the second." John shook his head. "I want off of this damn train."

John got his wish about five minutes later when the train finally pulled into the station. My sister stepped off before us, blending in with the people waiting for their own train. I wanted to go after her, but John grabbed my arm. "Not a good idea."

Sherlock was on the phone, no doubt speaking with Lestrade about what we'd found. It was a brief phone call, but it gave me enough time to glance at myself in a window and make certain that I looked presentable when we met my mother. Sherlock hung up, a satisfied smirk on his face. "The authorities and hazmat team should be here in the next ten minutes to disassemble the vaporizing system. Lestrade said that I could study it back in London and that Molly would be getting a sample of the serum to analyze."

"And the people heading to Paris?" John asked.

"Yes, Sherlock, are the people heading to Paris going to be alright? Please tell me they'll be okay." I could hear the fear in my voice and I cursed myself for it.

"Lestrade is putting in a call to the Parisian authorities. A hazmat team will be waiting at the station. But I promise you, based on the illustrations from the documents, they hooked up the wires wrong. Her signal wouldn't be able to go through to the transmitter, so the canisters shouldn't release." Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear now and I could tell that he was very pleased with himself.

I shook my head. "I hope you're right. But let's go and find my mother. It's starting to rain and she'll be waiting for us."

The three of us began to walk through the station, Sherlock's gaze scanning every face, John looking around worriedly as they followed me. I spotted a woman standing by the bicycle racks who looked vaguely like my mother if she had dyed her hair blonde. The woman looked healthy, happy even. The thing that threw me the most was the fact that while she looked nervous standing there by herself, she looked _sober_ , something that I hadn't seen in nearly twenty years.

"Mum?" I called, watching as she turned to look at me, a smile blossoming on her face.

"Delilah dear! Oh, I'm so glad that you could make it!" She pulled me in for an embrace and I awkwardly accepted the hug, patting her back. "Who's this? I didn't know you were bringing company."

"These are my friends, the ones I've been staying with. This gentleman is Doctor John Watson."

"How do you do?" John asked.

"Very well, thank you," my mother replied and I was surprised to hear her voice sound clear, no slurred speech or stumbling over her words. "And yourself?"

"Bit of a long ride, but we're very excited to meet you," John said, giving her a warm smile.

"And this is Sherlock Holmes." Without thinking, I took his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. He didn't pull away, which I took as a good sign, although he did seem a bit preoccupied with his thoughts.

"Wait... _the_ Sherlock Holmes? The famous consulting detective? He's your _friend?"_

"Yes Mother. He's my friend. He and John have been most kind to me for the past couple of months, even taking me in from the streets." I felt the urge to be spiteful and before I could stop myself I said, "You know, since _some_ people didn't care what happened to me."

I immediately regretted my words when I saw my mother's green eyes fill with tears. "I know I did wrong by you. And I am so sorry for that. It's why I asked you to come and see me. The children are with their father right now. He wanted to take them out so that you and I could have a bit of bonding time. I didn't realize that you were bringing people. Perhaps they'd like to take a tour of Radlett while we chat."

My hand tightened on Sherlock's and he glanced down at me but said nothing. "They're coming with me. I'm not trying to be rude, but these are my friends and I don't trust you."

"I understand that. I was only hoping that we could speak of these matters privately," my mother said, beginning to walk down the sidewalk. We all followed, my hand never leaving Sherlock's, John going to flank my other side. "I hurt you in more ways than one and I understand why you don't trust me. But...can't we put that in the past? At least until I explain my side of things?"

"Fine. But that means that you'll have to hear my opinion on everything as well."

"Whatever you wish. You look beautiful by the way. So much like your father. Except for the eyes. Don't know where those dark beauties in your head came from, but they suit you." She glanced back, giving me a small smile. "We're almost to the house. I put the kettle on right before I left to come get you, so no doubt it's whistling away unless Alicia grabbed it."

The rest of the walk was silent and we arrived in front of a sprawling estate with a long driveway,and a gigantic cottage style brick house that had ivy creeping up the front. I stood in awe of the home. "How in the hell did you afford something like this?"

"Donald is a lawyer," my mother said matter-of-factly. "He has gotten me all the help I need, as well as providing for me and the children. He has been a Godsend and I love him very dearly. I wish you could have come to the wedding. It was a beautiful sight."

We walked up the gravel driveway and I couldn't help but feel envious of my mother's new lavish lifestyle. There were two cars parked out front and I had no doubt that Donald had taken a third to take the children out for the day. We walked into the house and I shrugged out of my jacket, surprised by the appearance of a maid, whose hands were out to take my coat. I slowly handed it over to her, pulling my shirt out of the waistband of my pants to cover the butt of my gun.

"Shoes off at the door please," my mother called, bustling ahead of us down the hall. "I don't want Alicia having to do more work than she needs to. She'll take your coats from you and then she'll bring you to the kitchen."

"Did you know that your mother's husband was rich?" John asked and I shook my head.

"I had no idea. She said that they were doing well, but I didn't know it was _this_ well." I looked around, taking in the scenery.

"They're not doing as well as you'd think," Sherlock murmured in my ear and I looked up at him in surprise. "One of those cars out front was a rental. And the maid only seems to come once or twice a week, given how dusty some of the furniture is. Plus, why would your mother be serving us tea if she has people to do it for her? Also, your mother's hair is about five weeks overdue for a touch up, as her roots are showing. But there doesn't seem to be any reason preventing her from going to the salon. A natural brunette judging from the root color. Am I wrong?"

I couldn't help but giggle. "No, you're absolutely right. It's part of why I didn't recognize her at the train station. I wasn't expecting her to be so...blonde. Are you two ready?"

I looked at John and Sherlock, who both nodded. I became all too aware of how tight Sherlock's button down shirt fit him and I blushed, looking away. John began to walk ahead, following Alicia, leaving Sherlock and I to trail behind.

"You're embarrassed."

"How could you tell?" I couldn't contain the sarcasm.

Sherlock smiled. "I hope it's not because of my shirt."

My eyes widened. "What are you, some kind of mind reader?"

"When it comes to you? Only sometimes. I can't help but think of your sister's words on the train. Are you really a virgin?"

My cheeks were beginning to burn now. "Could we please not talk about this right now? I'm trying to prepare myself for a heart to heart discussion with my mother."

"Would you rather discuss this back at the flat then in my bedroom?" Sherlock chuckled even as I felt as though my entire face was going to burst into flames. "We'll talk about it later."

We entered the kitchen and I thanked God silently that John had my mother distracted, regaling her with stories of the cases that he and Sherlock had been on. My mother seemed enthralled by his storytelling. I took one of the mugs from the countertop, taking a sip, trying to calm my nerves. Sherlock leaned up against the doorway, watching me.

Why? Why did I have to be so aware of him all the time? Why did I have to know when those blue-green eyes were on me, watching my every move? Why did I have to sense the heat between us, the jolt I got whenever he touched me or held my hand? I shook my head, sitting on one of the barstools, listening to John, trying my best to ignore Sherlock.

"So, what all were we going to talk about? May as well get this family reunion out of the way as I need to get back to London as soon as possible," Sherlock drawled. "I mean, John's stories can't be all that interesting, can they?"

John shot Sherlock a dirty look. "Just because you're bored doesn't mean you have to force us to stop talking and enjoying ourselves."

"No, he's right. My daughter and I need to talk. Although I am definitely enjoying your stories John. It must be so exciting living with Sherlock Holmes."

I watched out of the corner of my eye as Sherlock rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. I took another sip of tea to prevent myself from giggling. "Mother, what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, I wanted to apologize for the way that I've treated you in the past. My therapist thinks that it would help with completing my therapy for my alcoholism. When you text me your phone number and asked me to call you, I was overjoyed."

"Wait...when did I text you that? I didn't even remember your phone number. Unless…" I whipped around to look at John and Sherlock. "Which one of you two text her?"

John threw his hands into the air, seemingly surprised by my anger. "It wasn't me."

I turned to glare at Sherlock. "So when did you do it?"

"When our surprise guest came for a visit. Your phone was on the table and I'd found your mother's phone and address that morning. I sent her a text message before you turned around," Sherlock replied calmly. "I figured that since your mother's life was in danger, you should talk to her."

"Wait, what do you mean?" My mother looked at the three of us confused and frightened. "My life-"

"Is in danger, yes. We need for you to go into hiding. I found that your husband has a house in Marseille, is that correct?"

"Yes, b-but I don't-"

"You don't need to understand," Sherlock interrupted again, stepping away from the wall. "You, your husband, and the two children need to head for Marseille and don't come back until I or Delilah contacts you. Your other daughter, Olivia, isn't dead. Instead she is the head of a terrorist organization and is planning on using you to gain information."

My mother's face went deathly pale. "O-Olivia...she's...she's alive?"

I was already moving to catch her even as she fainted. "Sherlock, how could you?!"

"She needs to know the truth as to why we're here."

"You mean as to why _you're_ here. You were planning this all along!" I shouted, brushing the hair out of my mother's face even as John checked her pulse. "Are you trying to give her a heart attack?"

"I was doing this so that your sister couldn't use your mother as bait. If we can get rid of most of the outside factors, the final face-off between you and your sister will be that much easier." Sherlock refused to move from his spot, watching us as we tried to rouse my mother. "She'll be fine. When she wakes, she'll need to call her husband and get him to come home so that they can leave."

"Delilah, calm down. Your mother is going to be fine," John said, trying to soothe me. "We'll get her up and then we'll talk."

"So you're siding with him on this one? Did you know this was going to happen?"

"No, but it does make sense. Don't you want to keep your mother safe?"

"Of course John. But I'd rather she not faint because we tell her her other daughter is alive." I watched as my mother's eyelids fluttered. "Mother? Mother, can you hear me?"

"What happened? Del? What's going on?"

"You fainted," I answered, helping her to sit up. "Here, drink some tea."

I handed her her mug, watching as she took a sip before coughing. She set the mug down before looking at me. I could see the pain in her eyes. "Is what he says true?"

I only nodded, feeling the lump forming in my throat. I didn't want to admit that she was alive, but my mother needed to know the truth if we were going to get her to cooperate. I watched as the tears appeared in her eyes, slipping down her face.

"My baby girl. My poor baby girl working with terrorists. This has to be against her will. My Livvy would never do something so atrocious."

I gritted my teeth, biting back a retort. Instead, I asked, "Haven't you watched the news?"

My mother shook her head. "No, not recently. I haven't had time between yoga classes, acupuncture, and taking care of the children. Why?"

Sherlock turned the small television on the counter on, flipping through the channels until he landed on a news station. We watched and I knew that they would be showing my sister's face, as they had every hour on the hour for the past month. Sure enough, five minutes later, Olivia's face from our last family photo together appeared on the screen.

"And this morning, London police are still asking for help in finding Olivia McKinley, a 29 year old female suspected of domestic terrorism. She was last seen at Tower Bridge on the night of January the first. She is wanted for questioning in regards to the attack on the Bridge. Workers are still trying to repair the damage from the explosions and authorities are still trolling the Thames for bodies." A number flashed on the bottom of the screen and I glanced at my mother, seeing the horror on her face. "If you have any tips that may lead to her being apprehended, you are encouraged to call the number on the bottom of the screen. You will remain anonymous. If you see this woman, do not try to detain her as she is most likely armed and considered extremely dangerous."

Sherlock turned the television off and I looked at my mother, taking her hand. "We weren't lying when we said that she had become the head of a terrorist organization. I know that she's your baby and that you always preferred her over me, but I am asking you to please go to Marseille and stay there. I…" my voice cracked and I had to clear my throat before continuing. "I may not have spoken to you since our argument, but I want both you and your new family to be safe. Please call your husband and tell him to come home. We'll explain everything when he gets here."

My mother slowly nodded her head. "Alright. I'll call him. Now help me up off of this floor."

Five hours later and we were standing outside in the freezing rain as my mother began to pack the trunk. I helped her as best I could. Her husband had taken the news surprisingly well and had even offered to drive us to London, as the train had been shut down for the day. John and I had graciously accepted, not giving Sherlock enough time to object to riding in a van with four other people.

They had managed to get the soonest flight out to Marseille with a layover in Paris. I still felt nervous for them, as I didn't know if Olivia had someone watching the house. But I had to hope that she could care very little about our mother's whereabouts and would assume that she would stay put.

I refused to look at Sherlock. I was angry with him for having done something so underhanded as taking my phone and contacting my mother without my knowledge of it. I saw out of the corner of my eye, one of the children run up to him, tugging at the sleeve of his coat. I turned, going to issue a warning to him about behaving when he knelt down in front of the little girl.

"What's this?" He asked, taking the white flowers that the girl had picked for him.

"A present for you. They're called snowdrops. Mummy says that I should thank you." The little girl looked down at her shoes shyly.

"Well, thank you. But what are you thanking me for?" I could hear the confusion in his voice and I looked to my mother who was smiling gently.

"Because you saved my life. Mummy says you're a good man. Thank you." To all of our surprise, she threw her arms around his neck, giving him a hug before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You deserve _all_ the flowers for being a good man."

She ran off back into the house and my mother leaned over to me to whisper in my ear, "He is a good man you know. You should keep him."

"Mother, you don't understand, he's-"

"A bit brusque and rough around the edges? So I've noticed. But so was your father and he was a great man too." My mother frowned and I could see the tears in her eyes. "I never wanted to divorce him you know. I was so sick. I...I'm sorry I hurt you that day. And I'm sorry that I hurt you when you received their ashes. They were your family more than they were mine. I love you Del. And I know that an apology doesn't fix things, but maybe it can be a start."

I gave my mother a small smile before ducking my head down so that she couldn't see the tears forming in my eyes. "I, erm, I'd like that. Very much in fact. Maybe coffee or something? Catch up?"

"That'd be lovely." She closed the trunk, turning and putting her hands on her hips. "Madeleine! Maximus! Come on you two, we've got a long trip ahead of us!"

The two children came running out of the house and I couldn't help but smile at their energy. Behind them came their father and I could see why my mother had married him. He seemed to be a kind and gentle soul, soft-spoken and a good listener. That was at least what I had gathered. I was certain that Sherlock had gathered more from him.

We all got into the van, Sherlock, John, and I sitting in the back seat, Madeleine and Maximus sitting in the middle, and my mother and her husband Donald up front. Donald was driving and we were going down the road at a reasonable pace. I felt very tired and I realized that it had been a long day for all of us. Maximus and Madeleine were preoccupied with a movie on the miniature televis and John was texting away on his phone. I looked at Sherlock, once again finding myself in-between the two men.

"We need to have a serious discussion when we get back to the flat," I murmured in his ear.

"Fine by me. Would you care to discuss it in the living room or in the bedroom?" He purred back and I felt my face flush even as I pulled away from him.

"Living room is fine." I did my best to keep my voice hushed, but I saw John glance in our direction. "I'm still cross with you."

"I noticed," was all he said before he leaned back in the seat, eyes closed. "If you'll excuse me, I need to meditate on a few things."

I sighed, sitting there in the silence of the van. I could see my mother looking up in the rear view mirror every once in a while, worry in her eyes. I decided to rest my eyes. I promised myself I'd only close them for a bit.

When I woke up it was to the sound of city traffic moving around us. I found myself curled up against Sherlock, his arm draped across my waist, my head resting against his shoulder. He glanced down at me, a small smile on his face.

"Good. You're awake. I didn't want to have to try and rouse you, seeing as I wasn't able to get your gun."

Maximus turned around in the seat, staring at me with wide eyes before he excitedly asked, "You have a gun? Can I see it?"

I sighed. "Have you ever held a gun before?"

He shook his head and my mother turned in her seat, a warning look in her eye. "Now now, do you think that letting an eleven year old hold a loaded gun in a vehicle full of people is a good idea?"

I rolled my eyes, popping the magazine out before pulling the slide back, ejecting the bullet from the chamber. "I wasn't going to give him a loaded weapon mother. Do you truly think I'm that foolish?"

My mother's face turned red and she pursed her lips, but said nothing, turning back to the front. I unbuckled my seatbelt, leaning forward between the two seats. Madeleine seemed interested as well, leaning forward in her seat to get a better look.

"Now. Before I hand this to you, there are three rules that you have to know about handling a gun. I'm going to tell them to you and then you're going to recite them back to me. If you do that, I'll let you hold the gun. Do you understand?" Maximus nodded, eyes solemn. "Good. The first rule is always make sure that the gun is unloaded. The way you do this, with my gun anyway, is you push this button on the side. That releases the magazine," I held it up to show him, "and it will drop out. Then you pull the slide back and look in the top here to see if there are any bullets in there. If there are, you can dump it out like I did."

"The second rule of gun safety is this. Never ever put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to fire. Your finger always goes alongside the gun like this." I demonstrated, showing him where my finger was. "Where my finger is means that I can move it quickly to the trigger if I need to, but I'm not going to hurt someone if I get spooked while I have my gun drawn. The third rule, although it's not the final one, is that you never _ever_ point the gun at someone if you don't plan on shooting them. You always keep the barrel pointed down at the ground. You don't wave it around, you don't jokingly point it at someone. It always stays to the ground until you're ready to fire and not a moment sooner."

"So, what are the rules Maximus?"

"Always make sure the gun is unloaded, never put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to fire, and never point the gun at someone if you don't plan on shooting them." He said this quickly and I couldn't help but smile.

"Very good. Now I'll let you see my gun. Show me how you check to make sure it's unloaded."

He pushed the button on the side, finger resting against the side of the gun nowhere near the trigger. Maximus struggled to pull the slide back and I covered his hand with mine, helping him. He glanced into the chamber before we let it slide closed. He pointed it at the floor of the van, closing one eye as if he was aiming. I placed one hand on his right arm, the other on his left.

"Here. This is how you hold a gun. What's your dominant hand?"

"Right, miss."

"Then curl these three fingers around the grip, place your finger along the side of the gun, and place your thumb here." I fixed his hands for him before taking his left hand and cupping it under the right. "Relax your shoulders a bit. You should always be at ease holding the gun. It's not going to hurt anyone unless you want it to. Think of it as a part of your arm, an extension of it."

"O-okay," he stammered out and I could tell he was nervous. The lights of London whizzed by outside and I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I taught him how to hold the gun. "Now what?"

"Put your finger on the trigger but don't pull it."

He shakily placed a finger on the trigger. "There's no bullets in it right? I don't want to hurt someone."

"You won't. We checked the chamber, remember?" I reassured him, ignoring the angry scowl my mother was giving me. "Relax, Maximus. Focus on your breathing. Now, I want you to slowly pull the trigger until you hear it click."

"Are you sure that thing isn't loaded?" My mother snapped. "There are other people in the car."

"Unless a bullet grew legs and climbed its way into the chamber, no, there is no bullet in the gun." I kept my voice calm, fixing my brown-eyed gaze onto her. "Now, let me teach him."

I could see his finger shaking against the trigger and I gripped his shoulders gently. "Easily pull the trigger. I promise you it won't go off. That's it. A little more." There was a click and I felt the tension in the car immediately dissipate. "See? That wasn't so bad. You're a real natural. Maybe once you're back from holiday I can take you to a shooting range and we can see how you do with bullets in there."

"Really?" He sounded so excited and I smiled.

"Really. So long as your father and step-mother don't mind."

"I don't at all," Donald said and I could see by his reflection in the windshield that he was smiling. "You seem to know what you're doing with a weapon."

My mother's face told an entirely different story. "We'll see. I'm not sure that an eleven year old should know how to handle a weapon."

"The younger the better," I replied, staring at her in the rear view mirror. "The world is changing and people of all ages should know how to defend themselves."

I watched as we pulled up to the curb outside of the flat. Maximus and his sister clambered out of the van and I followed after them, watching as Donald got out of the van as well. John and Sherlock headed inside, leaving me to stand out on the curb with my step-family.

"Children, get back in the van. We'll be going to the airport very shortly."

"But I want to stay with Delilah!" Maximus protested. "She's brilliant!"

"Yes papa, please can we stay with Delilah and Sherlock while you and mummy go on holiday?" Madeleine pleaded.

"Maybe next time," I said to them, crouching down in front of them. "We'll go and take a tour of London. We can even stop at Scotland Yard and visit the officers there. But for now, you two have a plane to catch to France. So off into the car with you."

They both let out a groan, but got back into the van. I closed the door, turning to look at Donald. "So."

"So," he replied. "I should thank you for warning us. You didn't have to do it and yet you did anyway. Why?"

"I can't stand to see innocent people get hurt. Especially if I can prevent it. Promise me…promise me you'll take care of my mother? She's the last bit of family that I have and I…I can't lose her too. Despite everything that has happened between us, she's my Mum. Can you do that for me?"

"I'll do the best that I can." The man surprised me with a hug and I accepted it. "You're a good woman Delilah. Your father would be proud of you I'm sure."

With that, he got into the van, merging back in with the many cars going up and down Baker Street. I sighed, going up the steps, taking the stairs two at a time up to 221b. I nearly knocked into John as I entered the flat.

"Where are you going?" I asked curiously.

"Down to the pub with Mary. We're going to get some drinks with friends of ours. Do you want to come?"

I shook my head. "Sherlock and I have some things that we need to talk about. I may come down later if it isn't too late. Will you wake me tomorrow to come with you to the clinic?"

"Of course. I nearly forgot. Thank you for the reminder. I'll see you two soon." John was nearly all the way down the stairs when he stopped to look up at me. "Try not to be too upset with him."

He left the building and I entered the flat, hearing the music of a violin floating down the hallway. I did my best to keep quiet as I padded down the hallway. I poked my head into Sherlock's room, seeing him standing by the window as he played. The song was slow, sorrowful, and I could feel the loneliness radiating off of Sherlock as he played. Was this how he felt all the time? Lonely because he was so intelligent? Did he feel like an outcast?

I spotted the snowdrop flower in a small glass cup on his bookcase shelf and I felt a rush of joy at seeing the small flower. It was the confirmation that I needed that perhaps he wasn't as cold and calculating as I thought. I knocked on the door, watching as he turned, lowering the bow and violin.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to listen to your song," I answered, going to sit on the side of his bed. "Did you compose that?"

"There was something you wished to talk about."

"Answer my question first and then we'll talk."

"Why?" I could hear him getting defensive and I knew that I would have to tread lightly.

"Because the music speaks to me and I want to know if that came from you or some other musician." I stared at him, studying his face, trying to gauge his emotions and whether or not that wall was going to come up. "It's a beautiful song either way."

Sherlock set the violin and bow down, going to sit next to me on the bed. "I composed it when I was fifteen. It came to me one day as I was playing and when I realized that it wasn't going to get out of my head after I finished playing, I wrote it down."

"It's beautiful. You have quite the ear for music. Do you think you'd ever quit being a consulting detective to become a musician?"

"No. Never."

"Why not?" I questioned, laying back on the bed, looking over at him. "You have talent and you clearly enjoy it. Why not give up this chasing criminals business and bring joy to people?"

"Because if I don't do this, who will? Do you think that Moriarty would have been stopped if I hadn't been there? Do you think that half of the cases that I've solved would have been if I hadn't been working on them? You'd still have cabbies killing innocent people, Moriarty still growing in power, and many more crimes. So no, I won't ever stop solving crimes. I'm _good_ at it." Sherlock sighed. "I suppose you wouldn't know what it's like to be good at something, would you?"

I brushed off the rude comment. "I am good at quite a few things. You haven't seen some of them yet."

"Some of them? Try all of them."

"Not true. I'm good at surprising you. My reflexes are much faster than yours. I could probably put you on your back in a fight before you even knew what hit you. I'm a good shot, not as great as Watson, but decent enough to where I won't miss when it counts. And I'm good at judging people's character."

Sherlock snorted. "Please. You could hardly judge your _sister's_ character."

"But I judged yours quite well, didn't I?" I fired back, watching as, for the first time since I'd met him, he grew quiet. "I was right about you. I could tell by how you interacted with Madeleine. They always say that animals and children know when someone is a good person."

"Stop calling me that!" Sherlock shouted, getting up from the bed. "I am not a good person. I have never been a devil, but I'm not on the side of the angels either!"

"You're not an angel, Sherlock, far from it." I was sitting up on the bed now, getting to my feet. "You're _you_. You're black and white, light and dark battling each other constantly. You are easily seen so long as someone wishes to take the time to actually look and see. You are cold, calculating, selfish, extraordinarily irritating, and a know-it-all." I watched the wall come up almost immediately, his back straightening, fire in his eyes that someone would dare be so rude to him. "But, on the other hand, you are passionate, kind, straightforward, loyal, intelligent, and creative. Most of all, you are misunderstood. And I think that's why you composed that song. You hoped that one day, someone would come along and they would at least try to understand you and your madness. That someone would be willing to dive headfirst into a case with you, no matter the cost and also be willing to dive headfirst into your mind to try and grasp who Sherlock Holmes truly is."

I finished speaking, the air heavy between the two of us. It felt as though time had stood still as we stared at one another. I could tell that he was trying to come up with some sort of retort, trying to find some sort of flaw in my argument. But how could he combat feelings with logic? It never worked.

"I'll be going now. We'll talk some other time. Right now I think-"

Before I knew it, Sherlock was grabbing my face with both his hands, his lips descending onto mine. Instinctively my arms snaked under his, wrapping around his neck. He backed me up to the bed and I sat down, falling backwards onto the mattress with Sherlock following close behind. One of his hands entangled itself into my hair even as the other brushed against my cheek. He traced my jawline with his slender fingers before stroking my neck, causing me to gasp at his touch. The consulting detective smiled against my lips even as his hand travelled lower, caressing my collarbone before going to lightly cup my breast.

I played with the hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying the feel of those dark colored curls between my fingers. I hadn't thought that his hair would be so soft, but it was like silk. I broke away from his lips, leaning up to press a kiss from his jaw to his earlobe. I felt him shudder on top of me even as I took his earlobe between my teeth, gently sucking on it. He groaned, burying his face into my neck, and I ran the hand that had been playing with his hair down his back, letting my nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders.

"Delilah, you are playing a dangerous game with my self-control."

"Does that bother you? The idea of losing control?" I purred, giving him a slow smile. "Sherlock, given the position that we're in, there's no denying that we both want each other."

"Yes, but this isn't how I imagined it. I don't want you losing your virginity to me in this atmosphere." Sherlock was pulling away from me, going to lay next to me on the bed. "I want…well, I suppose I want it to be special. Do you think that you could wait until Friday?"

"You mean Valentine's Day?" I felt the blush creeping up into my cheeks once more. "The most romantic day of the year and you want to do what exactly?"

"I want to give you the time I think you deserve," he replied, propping himself up on one elbow. "If you don't mind that is. If you do then I'm completely alright with abstaining from sex. I've done it for years now."

"I…I would like that I think. Valentine's Day. I'm holding you to that Mr. Holmes." I got up from the bed, going to exit the room when he grabbed my hand. "What is it Sherlock?"

"Would you mind sharing my bed with me tonight? No intimacy, no messing about. I…would like your company is all." He seemed embarrassed to be saying it and I rested my hand against his cheek, my thumb brushing against his cheekbone.

"Of course. I'll get changed and then we can fall asleep. Together."

That sounded foreign to me. I'd never shared my bed with a man before. But today and tonight was the night of firsts. What was one more?

A half hour later, I found myself drifting off to sleep in the arms of Sherlock Holmes, my face buried against his chest, our legs intertwined. He stroked my hair, humming softly in my ear even as I began to dream of him and his kiss and his promise of Valentine's Day.


	9. Chapter 9: Valentine's Night

***Hello lovelies! Sorry for the delay. It's another long chapter it looks like and I will put a warning here that there is smut up ahead. I mean, it's Valentine's Night, who didn't see this coming? I will say that this is the first ever time I've written this sort of scene, so if it's awful I'm sorry! I'll need to practice it. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. As always, feel free to chat with me, leave reviews, whatever you'd like. Thank you again for reading!***

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 **Chapter 9: Valentine's Night**

I walked out of the class with Mary, shaking my head. "I really don't understand how you all can do something like that. I mean, seeing someone collapse must be horrifying."

"Well, you've done it before. Didn't even freeze it sounds like. You have to realize that at that point in time, nothing you can do to help will hurt them, as they're dead." She gave my hand a squeeze. "Now, what are you doing tonight for Valentine's? Going down to the pub to see if you can meet someone?"

I shook my head, feeling the blood rushing to my face. "No, actually. Sherlock...well, he had something planned for us."

Mary covered her mouth with her hand. "Wait. You and Sherlock...are you serious?! Does John know?"

"I'm not sure. Please don't say anything. It's embarrassing enough without him knowing. I'd rather not be teased about it."

"Oh I highly doubt John would tease you. In fact, I think it would make him happy to know that Sherlock will have someone once we're married and he's gone." She and I began to walk down the street together arm in arm. "Are you going to do your hair?"

"I was going to brush it, yes. There's not much I can do with it."

"Well, the clinic should be closed at this time. Why don't we stop by there and I'll do your hair and make-up for you?"

"I...well, I'm not one for make-up. In fact I've never really worn it unless I had to make a presentation for court. Even then I tried to keep it to the bare minimum." I felt embarrassed to confess this to another woman. "But, I wouldn't mind if you tried."

Mary giggled. "We'll have fun together. Oh, I can't wait. You're going to look gorgeous."

We walked the four blocks to the clinic and she produced a key, unlocking the door. "I'll call John, tell him I'm going to be a little late. I wonder what Sherlock is planning. John hasn't told me he's doing anything out of the ordinary."

She sat me down in the office chair, rummaging through her purse before producing another, smaller bag. "Here we are. Now, your skin is beautiful as it is. I may put on a bit of moisturizer, just to make your skin look softer. Really I want to focus on your eyes. A bit of liner, a bit of mascara and you'll look like a completely different person."

My leg began to jiggle up and down. "Mary, I don't want you to be late meeting John."

"Nonsense. Stop bouncing your leg. There's no need for you to be nervous. You haven't seen Sherlock all week, right?" She was grabbing things from her bag, setting them out on the counter.

"Right. He has been with Molly and Lestrade studying that contraption and I've been getting all of the certifications I need so that I can start next week." I paused, looking at all of the things Mary was setting out on the counter. "It was nice of you and John to get me this job. I feel bad having lived at the flat without paying anything."

"Well, your ribs are nearly healed and your leg hasn't been bothering you, so that time is coming where you can pay them back. John said that you've been cooking and cleaning when you can, as well as helping Sherlock with the case. I'd say you're fine doing what you're doing. Money isn't everything you know." Mary pulled my hair down from the ponytail, running her fingers through it. "Would you prefer your hair up or down?"

"Either or, although up would probably be more practical."

"Very true. And I've got my curling iron in my purse, so we can always curl your hair."

"I didn't think you were into make-up and hair."

"Well, in my younger years I liked to get dolled up, go out to the pub, and drink. I was a bit of a wild child when work was done. I've definitely calmed down since then." She tilted my head back, coming towards me with a mascara wand. "Now hold still and don't blink."

I did as she asked, fighting the urge to blink, my eyes watering. She handed me a tissue and I dabbed at the corners of my eyes. "So how did you and John meet?"

"Working here. We connected over his blog and eventually I convinced him to go on a date with me. We had a lovely time together. After a few dates, he finally began to open up to me about Sherlock. We grew closer and now," she smiled down at the ring on her finger, "now I'll be marrying the man of my dreams."

"You two are a wonderful couple. I'm glad you found each other. John has been so kind to me since I showed up." I watched as she grabbed an eyeliner pencil. "Let me guess, I need to hold still."

"You got it!" Mary laughed.

After almost twenty minutes, my face was finally done. Mary held up a mirror and I stared in awe of her handiwork. She'd made my lashes longer and my eyes brighter. I could see, instead of it being only a dark brown, the various shades of brown and gold. My skin looked soft, dewy, with a healthy glow to it. Mary had been right. I looked like a completely different person.

She clapped her hands with glee. "You look gorgeous! Please let me take a picture and send it to John. I won't tell him who you're going out with and I'll tell him not to show Sherlock as you're worried he may humiliate you."

"I, erm, alright. If it would make you happy." I straightened my back, staring at Mary as she took out her phone. "Is this pose alright?"

"Perfect." The flash went off and I blinked a few times before I could see once again. "I'm sending this to John now. Sherlock is definitely going to be surprised, that's for sure. Now, if he's rude to you, you walk away and call me and then I'll give him a stern talking to."

I felt a shudder run down my spine and my stomach started flip-flopping. "I don't feel so good."

"You'll be fine dear. Here, let me do something with your hair. We'll tie it into a loose bun and then curl some of the loose strands. It'll only take a few minutes." Mary plugged her curler into the outlet. "Why are you so worried?"

I looked down at my hands sheepishly. "I...well, I've been on dates before. But I've never been...intimate." The last word came out as almost a whisper and I felt my ears begin to burn. "And I think that's what Sherlock has in mind. I'd rather not disappoint him. I mean, Sherlock isn't shy about pointing things out that don't please him."

"It's perfectly normal. I was anxious my first time with John and I wasn't even a virgin." She took my hand in hers. "Being nervous is normal, but I promise you, if it's meant to happen it will happen. And if not, well, you tried and you should leave and go down to the pub and find someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

I was comforted by her smile and her touch. "John's a very lucky man. He had better realize what he has and take care of it or else I'll be giving him a stern talking to."

We both laughed. Once Mary had composed herself, she began to do my hair, leaving me to my own thoughts. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and I pulled it out, sliding it up so that I could see the message.

 _ **You look gorgeous Delilah.**_

 _ **You wouldn't happen to know why Sherlock's cooking, would you? Or why he bought flowers and has candles all around the flat? He said something about having company later, so I wanted to see if he'd told you anything about it.**_

 _ **Hope you and Mary are having fun and I'll see you when she stops by before we go to dinner. She didn't tell me who the lucky man was. Said I'd have to ask you. Who is it?**_

 _ **-JW**_

I smiled at the message. So Sherlock was actually going through with planning out a romantic night for us. Well, that was a start. I figured that he would have forgotten or been too preoccupied with the case to care. I began my reply to John even as Mary began to curl my hair.

 _ **I've no idea who he plans to have over at the flat. Do you think he could have been seeing someone without our knowing? And I'll introduce you to him after our date tonight. It's a trial period at the moment for us. -DM**_

 _ **You've seriously got no clue as to who's coming over? I mean, he's making lasagna. Lasagna for Christ's sake! The man doesn't even eat! She must be important to him if he's going to all this trouble. Do you have a place to stay tonight if he won't let you back in the flat? -JW**_

 _ **Don't worry John, I have a place to stay. -DM**_

 _ **Seriously, who is the guy you're going on a date with? I need to know in case something should happen. Is it someone I know? - JW**_

 _ **I'm not telling you John. As I said, it's a trial period at the moment. I promise you I'm in good hands. You'll find out soon enough. Have fun with Mary tonight and stop worrying. I think she's almost done with my hair and then we'll be on our way. -DM**_

 _ **Fine. I'll find out either by you or Sherlock. Oh Jesus, he's putting on instrumental music. God save us all. -JW**_

I laughed, showing Mary all of the messages even as she turned the curling iron off, finger combing my hair to soften the curls. She giggled. "He's very curious. I'm guessing that that's why my phone has been vibrating since I started doing your hair. But you're done and you look beautiful. Like I said, if he says even one wrong thing you let me know and I'll be over there, damn the date with John."

"I...think we'll be okay." My heart began to race in my chest. "Do you really think he'll like it?"

"Darling, if the man doesn't then he's blind. Now, I think we've kept them waiting long enough, don't you?"

"I suppose." I pulled my jacket closer around my shoulders. "Let's go and meet our dates then."

* * *

We arrived back at the flat a while later, the sun starting to set. I'd gotten a couple of texts from Sherlock asking where we were, but I hadn't responded to him. I felt like I was going to vomit butterflies all over the sidewalk. Mary and I walked arm in arm, entering the flat and going up the stairs. I stood behind her even as she knocked on the door.

John opened it and I saw his eyes widen as he looked at myself and Mary. "Wow...you both look stunning."

"Thank you John," I murmured, feeling the blush rising in my cheeks.

"Thank you dear." Mary gave John a peck on the lips before stepping into the flat. "Sherlock? Oh Sherlock, where are you?"

"In the kitchen woman. Why are you shouting?" Sherlock stepped around the corner with an irritated look on his face. He froze when he saw me. "Hello Delilah."

"H-hello Sherlock," I stammered, looking down at my feet. "How's the cooking going?"

"Good. Our supper should be ready in about thirty minutes or so. I grabbed us a bottle of vodka earlier. I wish I'd known you were coming, I would have been a bit more prepared."

"Wait. Sherlock, she's- Delilah, your date is- hold on just a minute!" John looked between the two of us incredulously. "You mean to tell me-"

"No time dear!" Mary said quickly, grabbing his hand. "We're going to be late for dinner and I'd rather not miss our reservation. Have fun you two! I'll see you in the morning when we go dress shopping Del!"

They left, John still trying to form a coherent sentence even as Mary shut the door. Sherlock brushed past me, locking it. He turned to look at me and I could feel my face turning bright red. I did my best to not squirm under his gaze even as he looked me up and down. He nodded.

"You look stunning Delilah," he said simply and I looked up at him, smiling.

"Thank you. You look handsome yourself. Although, hold on." I approached him, reaching out to wipe a smudge of flour off of his face. "John wasn't joking when he said you were cooking today."

"I made the noodles and sauce from scratch."

"I didn't think that you knew how to cook."

"I don't. It seemed an unnecessary thing to burden my mind with. But I decided to look up a few recipes online and I asked Mrs. Hudson for some help at one point. I wanted to make you a home cooked meal instead of going out." I could see the apprehension in his eyes.

"I'm sure it's going to taste wonderful. That means that I'll have to cook you something soon for our next date." That word sounded so foreign coming out of my mouth and I saw a smile tug at the corner of his lips. "What?"

"You're already planning our next date when we haven't even gotten through the first one," he replied, resting his hands on my hips, pulling me close. "I wasn't joking when I said you look stunning. You're wearing make-up."

"Yes. Not my choice. I normally don't, but Mary insisted that I-"

"I like it," he interrupted, reaching up to stroke my cheek. . "Your hair looks nice as well. What did you do to it?"

"I'm not sure what Mary did. I'll have to ask her next time. When did you say that dinner would be done?"

"Another twenty to thirty minutes. Would you like a drink while we wait?"

"Sure."

"I read this recipe online using pear vodka and mixing it with cranberry juice and seltzer water. I thought we could try it." He let go of my hips, heading into the kitchen. I followed, watching as he grabbed two glasses from the cabinet before filling them with ice. "It's supposed to taste very good as a mixed drink. If you don't like it we could always drink straight vodka."

"I think that the cocktail sounds wonderful," I replied, feeling my nervousness fluttering around in my chest once more. "So, besides cooking and lighting candles, what else have you done today?"

"Well, let's see. I went down to the market as soon as I knew you were going to your class. I bought all of the supplies there. And then I came home, spoke to Molly for a little bit about our findings. Apparently not only was it an antibiotic resistant strain of meningitis in our canister, but there was also shingles and mumps in there." Sherlock paused as he looked up at me. "Your leg is jiggling and your face is pale. There's a very faint sweat on your brow. Why are you nervous?"

"It's nothing really," I replied, forcing my leg to be still.

"What are you nervous for? Has something happened that I don't know about?"

"No, not at all. I'm…not used to this sort of attention."

Sherlock poured the vodka and cranberry juice into the glass, adding a splash of seltzer water. "I'm trying to focus on you and making this night special. Does that bother you?"

"No. This is very sweet of you and I'm enjoying seeing this side of you."

"Then what on earth could be the matter?"

"I…I'm worried about disappointing you."

He carried my glass over to me, setting it down in front of me. "Disappointing me? Why, if you were going to do that you would have done it already. People disappoint me when I first meet them. It's why I try not to keep them around." Sherlock took a sip from his glass as he sat down across from me, watching me. "You're nervous about tonight. After dinner."

"Yes. Because I'm sure you've been with plenty of women and I'm so inexperienced. I was always so focused on my career and family. Then I was focused on surviving. Now…now this is a completely different realm that I'm not used to." I took a gulp from my glass, trying to look anywhere in the room but at Sherlock.

"How many women do you think I've been with?" He questioned, leaning back in his chair. "I'm honestly curious."

"I don't know. A half-dozen, maybe more?"

Sherlock chuckled. "If I were John, maybe. But I've only been with two women. You would make a third. I'll be very honest with you Delilah, the thought of being intimate with someone or of being with someone is not at the top of the list. People get in the way, significant others make for wonderful hostages, and I really have no use for feelings." I could feel my heart sinking with disappointment. "That being said, you've proven to me that you're not a normal person and that you would be beneficial to me on cases. And that you won't be a hostage, you'll be a fighter. And that feelings perhaps aren't as bad as I once thought they were, at least when it comes to you."

"You've only been with two women?" I felt a little less nervous now. "When? Were you in long term relationships with them?"

"Well, the first girl was back in secondary school. I was sixteen, she was seventeen, and I wanted to get it out of the way. I'm pretty certain that she didn't enjoy it, but I only wanted to know the mechanics of it and how it felt so that I could disregard those feelings and urges when I got older." Sherlock took a sip from his glass. "The second was a woman I met in the library while I was researching a case. She...intrigued me. She was from Italy, studying at UCL for her degree in criminal psychology. Her name was Alessandra and she and I went on a few dates before we became intimate. I ended things when I grew bored with her as she turned out to be a shallow woman."

I could tell that Sherlock was far away from our table, no doubt back in a library seeing Alessandra for the first time. Before I could stop myself I asked, "What did she look like?"

Sherlock turned to me, raising an eyebrow. "Why does it matter?"

"Curiosity."

"Curiosity or jealousy? Or do you want to compare yourself to her and ponder for hours on end why I like you when you're nothing like her?"

I looked down at my glass, cursing myself for being so obvious, especially with him. "I suppose it's a mixture of everything."

"Do you really want to know?"

I was taken aback by his asking. He'd never done that before with anyone, at least not from what I had seen in his interactions with people. I slowly shook my head. "You know, now that you've mentioned it, I'm not that curious. It doesn't matter. She was in the past."

Sherlock gave me a small smile. "I'm glad you decided otherwise. Now, I think-" The timer above the stove began to ring and he rose to his feet. "Ah yes, right on time. Let me see." He grabbed a pair of oven mitts off of the counter, sliding them onto his hands. "Here we are. One homemade lasagna."

"What if I don't like Italian food?" I asked, wanting to give him a hard time.

"Impossible unfortunately, as I heard you discussing with Mary on the phone that you were craving Italian food and hadn't had a good lasagna since you visited Italy for your twenty-fifth birthday. " Sherlock turned to place the dish down in the center of the table. "I doubt mine will be as delightful as what they serve in Italy, but I can guarantee it won't give you food poisoning."

I chuckled, watching as Sherlock cut the lights off in the kitchen, leaving us with only the light of the candles, violin music floating in from the living room. I swayed with the music as Sherlock served the pasta. "Well, go ahead. Take a bite."

I did as he asked, cutting a small piece off the corner with the edge of my fork before taking a bite. It was actually very well made. He hadn't been overzealous with the sauce, the noodles were cooked to perfection, and the cheese was evenly distributed through every bite. Sherlock was staring at me and I could tell that he was waiting for my feedback.

"It's good Sherlock. You did a wonderful job considering this is your first time cooking. Thank you." I watched as he settled back into his chair, not moving to fix himself a plate. I looked at him curiously. "Are you not eating?"

"I don't eat while I'm on a case."

"The way I see it, you're _not_ on a case right now. You're on a date with me. Please, at least have a small slice."

Sherlock sighed. "I'm not hungry."

"You're not hungry or you're not giving in to what your body is telling you? I heard your stomach growl earlier."

"Those were the normal sounds of digestion."

"Digesting what, your own stomach? Sherlock, you're drinking. Have a little something. Please?"

He reached over, cutting himself a small slice of lasagna before putting it on his plate. I watched him until he took a bite. "Are you happy now?"

"Very," I replied, taking another bite. "Have you heard anything from your brother yet?"

"No, not since I spoke to him about finding you a safe place to stay next month. He said he would do the best he could, but we would need to go and visit him at his office one day next week."

"Well it will have to be one of the days that I have off. I'm starting at the clinic on Monday."

"You're not going to do well there. You won't fit in."

I glanced up at him, trying to hide the hurt. "What makes you say that?"

"You're too adventurous, too hands-on. You'll want to be helping patients, not answering the phones and booking appointments. You'd do better as a nurse I think. Or a police officer. I'm sure they could use you down at Scotland Yard." Sherlock took another bite of his food. "You're not cut out for desk work Delilah. Will you really be happy stuck in the same building three to four days a week doing nothing but staring at a computer waiting for the phone to ring?"

I frowned. I hadn't considered that aspect. I'd been excited about getting the job in the first place. "I think I'll do fine. It's a job and I can pay you all a bit of money each paycheck for letting me stay here."

"You don't need to pay us. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Save your money."

"Sherlock, I can't stay here rent free. I'll give you money each week."

"I am telling you no. I will burn it before I accept it."

"Then I'll give it to John."

Sherlock let out a huff of impatience. "Would you stop being so stubborn all the time? We are not taking your money. John and I have already discussed it. Save your money, put it towards getting a flat of your own if you must."

I sat there, shaking my head. "You want to talk about someone being stubborn...fine. But I'm still going to clean the flat and cook for you all. And buy groceries from time to time."

He rolled his eyes, but chose not to argue with me. We finished our meal in silence and I helped him clean up, putting the leftover lasagna in the fridge and washing the dishes. I went into the living room with my glass of alcohol, sitting on the couch. Sherlock followed, something tucked behind his back as he stood in front of me.

"What have you got there?" I asked, raising my eyebrow as I leaned back, looking up at him.

"A present for you. Close your eyes."

I set my glass down before I closed my eyes, hands outstretched. I opened them when I felt something pressed into my hands. "Oh! They're beautiful! But how did you know that I liked stargazer lilies?"

Sherlock looked at me, a smirk on his face. "You commented on them one day when we were out at the market with John two weeks ago."

I couldn't help but give him a genuine smile. "Thank you so much Sherlock. These are absolutely beautiful. I...didn't even think you'd been paying attention. I'm surprised you remembered."

"I remember a lot of things, Delilah. Now, would you care to dance with me?"

I set the flowers on the table before rising to my feet. "I'm not a good dancer, but I'd be willing to try. You can dance?"

He took my hand, whirling me out into the middle of the living room. I hadn't realized that he'd moved the chairs out of the way and cleared a space. I giggled even as he closed the gap between us, placing one hand lightly on my hip, the other taking my hand. I rested my free hand on his shoulder and away we went. I found that he was actually very easy to follow and I only had to glance down at my feet a couple of times.

I looked up into his eyes, finding myself once again enchanted by them. I smiled and he looked down at me, slowing our pace even as the music began to slow. I recognized the song. "Wait. Sherlock. Is this-"

"My music? Yes. I recorded a few of my songs onto a disc when I was younger. I thought that since you seemed to enjoy my playing so much, I would put it on for us to dance to." Sherlock brushed a stray curl away from my face. "You know...you are the last person I thought I would be dancing with or speaking with on a more intimate level."

"Why do you say that?" I murmured, reaching up to stroke the side of his neck, watching as he tried to hide a shudder from me.

"Well because you are the complete opposite of me and everything that I stand for. You are made of passion and emotion and questionable decisions. You are kind and caring. Brave even. You carry the entire world on your shoulders and care about everyone except yourself." Sherlock shook his head. "I can't wrap my mind around you and I think that is your most intriguing quality."

"So there is a romantic side to you," I said softly. "Everyone I've met kept telling me how cold you were, how uncaring, unkind, and uninterested you could be. But...when you pulled me in off the street, nearly dying of an asthma attack, I knew you were different. A man who was cold, uncaring, unkind, or uninterested wouldn't have helped a complete stranger. And now you're proving it to me. Sherlock, tonight is wonderful and I can see how much effort you put into all of this. Thank you."

He rolled his eyes, but I could see the smile he was fighting to hold back. "Always thanking people for silly things."

I laughed. "It's a bad habit I know. I swear, I would thank my enemy for letting me live if I was given the chance."

We both laughed at that and then Sherlock's eyes met mine. "I've never told you how beautiful you are, have I?"

"Oh God. How much have you had to drink?"

"As much as you," he replied. "I'm not drunk. I...want to tell you how I see you. If you'd let me."

I blushed. "If you'd like. But, if we do that then I'd like to tell you how I see you. Fair is fair."

He pulled me tighter to him, swaying to the music still. But I couldn't pay attention to it when I was so close to him. I shuddered even as he leaned down to murmur in my ear. "Your eyes are the loveliest shade of brown. Dark. Mysterious. Captivating. And when the light hits them just right, they turn the color of whiskey with hints of a dark chocolate melted in. I noticed this when we were out shooting and you glanced over your shoulder at me to see whether or not I approved of your marksmanship. Your hair is so brilliant, a testament to your fiery temper and unbroken willpower. When I picture you in my mind, which happens more often than you think, it is the first thing that appears. Those long, soft waves of fire cascading down your back."

"Then, after I've pictured your hair tumbling down your back, I picture your porcelain skin with the kiss of freckles across your nose and cheeks. I can see how soft and smooth it is and how I'd love to brush my fingertips down it, watching you tremble at my touch." To prove his point, he ran his hand down my back and I couldn't help but shudder. "I want to kiss every scar on your body, those physical testaments to how much you've endured in your life and I want to replace those bad memories with the touch of my lips. Speaking of lips, all that has consumed my brain when I'm not working on this case, is the feel of your lips against mine. How pliant they are, how willing to accept my kiss they can be." He moved his head, his lips now hovering over mine. "Do you want me to kiss you Delilah?"

Without a word, I pulled his head down towards mine, our lips touching. My entire body felt as though it were electrified by the kiss, even as he pulled me close to him. I stood on tip-toe, arms wrapped around his neck. His hands ran down the front of my body before going around to the back, cupping me right under my bottom, lifting me up. Instinctively I wrapped my legs around his waist, delighting in the low groan that came from his throat. He pressed me against the wall and I gasped as his body pressed into mine. My fingers buried themselves in his hair and I gently pulled his head back to look at me.

"Make love to me Sherlock," I whispered, the nervousness fading from me, replaced by a heat and a need like nothing I had ever craved before.

He pulled back and in one movement, I was cradled in his arms, my arms wrapped around his neck as he carried me back to the bedroom. I kissed his neck, nibbling at his earlobe, enjoying the fact that I was making him shiver and moan. Sherlock set me down on the bed, laying down next to me. His lips met mine once more even as he began to unbutton the front of my shirt. He pushed aside the material before leaning back to look at what he'd revealed.

"Very nice," he murmured, fingertips brushing over the tops of my breasts. "I wonder what it looks like underneath."

I began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, managing to get them undone. I pulled the sleeves off, throwing the shirt onto the floor. I looked at him, unclothed, and the nervousness came back. He was no body-builder, but there was some muscle and definition to him. I rested a hand on his chest, watching as he looked down at me with a smile on his face.

"Everything as you expected?"

I looked up at him. "More than I expected. I didn't think you were so fit. I mean, you don't look like you'd have any muscle on you."

"I could say the same about you." He lifted me up, pulling the shirt away to expose my entire torso to him with nothing but the bra on. I shivered. "Are you cold?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine. Sherlock...kiss me."

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips, one hand cupping my breast even as his other gripped my hip. He began to press kisses to my jawline, working his way down my neck and chest. Sherlock unfastened the bra deftly, tossing it to the side. Before I could even say anything, he was taking one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking it gently. My hips jerked up against him and he moaned again, his own hips pressing into me. I felt the hardness against my lower abdomen and I felt my heart begin to race.

Sherlock's mouth continued to suckle my breast even as his thumb brushed against the other nipple. I let out a moan, my head falling back onto the bed, fingers digging into his back. He pulled away, pressing kisses to any part of skin that was exposed. He lingered on the bullet wound scar on my stomach before going lower. I shuddered as he kissed my hip bone, nipping at it lightly. Slowly, he unbuttoned my jeans, tugging them down and tossing them into the growing pile of clothes. I felt my body flush as he looked at my nearly naked form.

"Everything as you expected?" I asked, resisting the urge to cover my breasts with my arm.

"Better than I expected," Sherlock murmured. "You...are perfect."

I gave him a gentle smile, scooting back on the bed so that I was laying in it properly. "Is that so? Well, I'd rather not be the only one nearly naked if you don't mind."

He pulled his own pants off and I couldn't help but stare at the bulge barely concealed by his underwear. I felt my face grow hot and he joined me on the bed, tracing my body with his fingertips as if trying to learn every centimeter of my body by touch. It was as if his fingertips were sending little jolts of electricity through my skin and my body was converting it into a heat that was growing in the pit of my stomach. I gasped as his hand travelled lower, rubbing gently at my clit through the flimsy material of my underwear.

"Do you want me to touch you? Bring you pleasure?" He continued his gentle rubbing even as I groaned, kissing the side of his neck. "Well?"

"Yes. Please Sherlock. I want you."

In one quick movement, Sherlock lifted my hips up and pulled my underwear down tossing it to the floor. His fingers brushed against my now exposed skin before his thumb pressed against my clit, rubbing it in slow circles. I'd never felt anything like it before even as the heat shot up through me. I couldn't hold back a moan and Sherlock looked up at me, a grin on his face.

"Does that feel good?"

I could only nod, moaning again as his thumb pressed a little harder and he quickened his pace. My hips lifted up against his hand and I grabbed fistfuls of the bedding, writhing under his hand. He was beside me in an instant, still rubbing in circles, pressing a kiss to my lips, tongue dipping into my mouth. I felt as if I was going to burst into flames or melt into lava. I let out another moan as he slowly slid a finger inside of me. I didn't even acknowledge the small pain, I was so focused on his lips against mine, his thumb and the pleasure it was bringing me.

I could feel it building inside, climbing somewhere that I had never gone before. I was getting closer and closer to that edge. When he slid a second finger inside of me and his free hand cupped my bare breast, it pushed me over the brink, falling into a delightful world that I had never been to before. I barely even heard my cry of pleasure as the waves of ecstasy washed over me. Sherlock's kiss brought me back to a breathless reality and I looked at him, eyes wide, a smile on my face.

"That...was amazing…" I panted out, watching as a smug smirk appeared.

"Was it now?"

"Probably the best thing I've ever felt." He stroked my cheek with his knuckle and I smiled. "Now I suppose it's your turn."

"What do you-"

I was already shoving him onto his back, straddling him. I had no idea what I was doing, but it felt natural. My hair had fallen out of the loose bun and now cascaded down around us. His hands gripped my hips even as I ground them against his. He moaned and I watched as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. I teased him, learning quickly how to move my body in rhythm with his thrusts, slowing down when his breath began to come in ragged gasps.

He let out a growl before he flipped me onto my back. His eyes burned into mine, one arm propping him up, the other wrapped around my waist. "Are you ready Lila?"

Slowly, I nodded my head. "Let me...let me look first. Please."

Sherlock leaned back and I tugged his underwear down, doing my best to not be surprised. I found myself unable to look away as I got the underwear fully off. He rolled a condom on even as I stared. "Y-you're...ummm...you're very well endowed...I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that, but I-"

"It's alright. I won't force you if you're not ready."

"It's fine. Sherlock, I want this. And I want it with you."

He leaned down, kissing me softly before resting his forehead against mine. "This will hurt, but I will be gentle."

I nodded, feeling his tip at my entrance. "I'll be alright. I don't think you would hurt me on purpose."

Slowly, he pushed into me and I felt a sharp pain for a split second before it became a dull ache. He stopped moving, looking down at me. I could tell that he was restraining himself from moving again. "Are you alright?"

I nodded. "Aye. I'm fine. Show me what this world is like Sherlock. Teach me."

We began a new dance, one with a different, more basic rhythm as old as time. There was nothing more important than each other in that moment. No case, no trouble, nothing but the two of us. I felt myself soaring once more as Sherlock's hand slipped between my legs to rub at my clit. Even as I tightened around him, he let out a hoarse cry, spasming once, twice, before lowering himself down on top of me, burying his face in my neck.

I ran my nails lightly down his back, feeling him shudder. He slowly pulled out of me, rolling off and laying next to me. I stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving for air. I glanced over at him, seeing that he was doing the same as I was, one hand on his stomach, the other resting by his side. I reached out for the hand by his side, intertwining my fingers with his. He turned his head to stare at me and I was delighted to see that he was relaxed. He rolled over, pressing a kiss to my forehead before getting out of bed, going to the bathroom.

I stayed in the bed, still staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. Had I really just been intimate with Sherlock Holmes? Had I shared a bed with him, lost my _virginity_ to him? Judging by the ache in my lower abdomen and the shakiness in my limbs, yes, I had. And I had enjoyed it too.

' _To think, two and a half months ago, I was out on the streets, struggling for my next meal, hiding from people who wanted to kill me. And now, now here I am in the bed of the greatest consulting detective in the world, staying under his roof.'_ I sighed. _'Things do seem to change. Perhaps my luck has changed, but for better or worse, I won't know.'_

I got out of the bed, Sherlock walking out of the bathroom. I could tell that the magic of the moment had been broken as he stepped out. "Did you need to use the bathroom?"

I nodded. "Yes. I need a shower and then I'll more than likely go to bed."

"Well, could you wait? I need to clean up in there first."

My curiosity was piqued. "What do you need to clean up? I cleaned it yesterday."

"Well, you missed a spot."

"Missed a spot? How is that possible?" I pushed past him, gently pushing the door open. I gasped when I saw the mirror.

In red lipstick on the mirror was a message, written in curly handwriting that I recognized from our years of living together. I felt the rage building my chest as I read the four words scrawled across the glass.

' _She will die Sherlock :)'_

I let out a snarl of rage, resisting the urge to punch the mirror. She had ruined it, all of it. I wiped my hand across the mirror, streaking the words, making it look as if they were bleeding on the glass. I looked at my hand, watching it tremble at the sight of the red on the palm of my hands. A hand reached around me to cover mine and close it.

"Ignore it," Sherlock whispered in my ear. "Ignore it and her."

"How can I? How can I ignore the fact that she can get into the flat whenever she wants? That she can come and go as she pleases? I'm putting you and John in danger, Sherlock, and I can't do that anymore. I can't and won't." I stormed out of the bathroom, going to the living room, and opening my pack. "I'm sorry that things have to be this way, but I won't put any of you in danger because you want to be kind and give me a roof over my head."

"You're not going anywhere," Sherlock said, voice cold. "I will not let you go back out onto those streets with these people hunting you down. I'm not allowing it."

"You can't stop me," I said, tugging on a pair of sweatpants, tying the drawstring tight. "I'm leaving tonight. Sherlock, we already know how this ends."

He looked desperate to get me to stay. "At least spend the night with me. Please. Give us this one last night if you are so insistent on leaving."

I pulled a camisole over my head before grabbing a thick jumper. "I don't want you hurt."

"Did you not read the note? She said that you would die, not me."

"And if she comes after me, do you really think that she would stop with that?" I felt my lower lip trembling and the tears began to fall. "I can't let anything happen to you Sherlock. Not again, not after what we shared."

I began to cry, sobbing softly. Sherlock pulled me into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "She is only doing this to get under your skin. Delilah, listen to me. You will be safe so long as I am here. You have to believe me when I say that we will get her and put her behind bars. This will end. Do you believe me when I say this?" He lifted my face up to look at him. "Do you Lila?"

"I do."

"Then stay the night with me."

* * *

I woke, sitting up quietly. Sherlock and I had gone back to the bathroom after our argument and shared a shower. He'd been doing his best to soothe me and convince me to stay. And when we'd gone back to bed, I'd drifted off to sleep. But as I had, I'd told myself that I would wake before morning. I refused to put Sherlock in danger. I would not see him harmed, even if it meant my demise.

I couldn't say that I loved him. I wasn't ready to say that and I hadn't processed everything that had happened. But I did care for him deeply and I knew that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to him because of me. John as well. And Mary and Mrs. Hudson. Even Molly and Lestrade, although I'd only met both of them a handful of times.

Slowly, I edged my way off of the bed, keeping an eye on Sherlock. He didn't stir. I frowned, knowing that this would hurt him as much as it was hurting me. He looked so handsome, so at peace in that bed asleep. A curl of dark brown hair lay across his forehead and I gently brushed it away, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He murmured something, rolling onto his side before drifting off again.

I padded down the hallway, closing the door behind me so I wouldn't wake him. I tugged my trainers onto my feet, grabbing my pack. I noticed the laptop sitting on the table out of the corner of my eye. I decided to leave Sherlock a note, short and sweet, thanking him and John for their kindness. I opened a new document.

 _ **Sherlock,**_

 _ **Tonight was a wonderful night. I am truly grateful that I got to spend this time with you. You and John have been absolutely wonderful to me these past two and a half months and I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and your charitable nature. Please tell John and Mary that I am sorry that I could not give a more appropriate good-bye.**_

 _ **I do not want to see any of you hurt and I know Olivia better than anyone else. She will destroy everything that I love if it means that she achieves her goal. I will not put anyone in harm's way if what she wants is me. By the time you read this, I have no doubt that I will be at her mercy, if not dead. But if I can get her to keep away from you, then I will have accomplished my goal.**_

 _ **Do not try to contact me, do not try to search for me. Do not call the police. I am disappearing for good and you will not find me. Thank you all again for your kindness. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.**_

 _ **Sincerely,**_

 _ **Delilah McKinley**_

I read over the note twice before nodding, satisfied with what I had written. I tucked the pistol into the waistband of my pants before throwing my coat on over my shoulders. I grabbed my pack before leaving, closing the door behind me. I pulled the phone out of my pocket even as I exited the building onto the quiet streets of London.

I scrolled through my contacts before I found the one number I was looking for. I hit the send button, listening to it ring once, twice. I was going to hang up when I heard the purr on the other end of the line.

"Have you come to your senses now?"

"I have. Meet me at the park we used to go to as children in thirty minutes. No police, no henchmen. Just you and me. We'll settle this one on one like we should have a long time ago."

"See you soon sister."

The call ended and I set the phone on the front stoop where I knew Sherlock would see it. "See you soon you bitch."

I took off down the dark streets, moving silently through the shadows. This was going to end, one way or another. And if it meant that I died with her, then so be it.


	10. Chapter 10: Thank You

***Before you even begin reading this, I want to put in a huge massive TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter has torture as well as rape (I don't go into detail, but it and the aftereffects are there). So if those topics bother you, please please PLEASE don't read this. The next few chapters will be better. We're getting into The Sign of Three after this chapter. I will be using Ariane Devere (Callie Sullivan's) transcription. They're actually very detailed and I will be using that as a close guide, putting in Delilah where I can without changing the entire flow of the story. I do hope that you guys are enjoying this story and I am sorry for the heavy material in this chapter. Have a wonderful Sunday lovelies!***

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Thank You**

"Wake up."

I groaned, feeling my head give a nasty throb. A hand struck me hard across the face and my head snapped back. I opened my eyes, watching as the room swam around me. My stomach turned and I threw my head forward, vomiting. There were a few laughs even as I felt the warm liquid spill down my front. I coughed, trying to wipe at my mouth, but I found that my arms were pinned down. I managed to rub my mouth against my shoulder, wiping away the vomit. I coughed again before I looked around the room, finding myself in some sort of warehouse surrounded by men, strapped to a verticle table.

"W-where am I?"

"Don't bother yourself with those sorts of questions," a familiar voice said. "Just smile and say hello to the camera."

I looked at my sister, head spinning. "I…I thought we were at the park."

"We were. Aling must have hit you a bit harder than I thought he did. Don't you remember sister dear?"

I searched my mind, coming up with a blank. All I could see was Sherlock in bed sleeping peacefully and me packing up my things. After that was nothing. I looked up at her. "I can't remember anything. Where are we?"

A hand came from nowhere, striking me across the face. I was met with the angry eyes of the man I had knocked out in the alleyway. "Shut up you stupid bitch. L doesn't want any of your questions."

"Easy Desmond. Let my sister here catch her breath and say hello to the audience."

"Audience?"

"Oh yes. You see, I managed to find our little detective friend's cellphone number. So we decided to send him a link to a website that is now broadcasting the entire spectacle. And guess what? Our wonderful friend Mr. Holmes is watching us _right now_. So say hello!" Olivia approached me, jerking my face to look at the camera on the tripod. "Say hello and then we'll get to our fun."

"H-h-hello…Sherlock…"

"Louder and clearer so that he can hear you. I want him to hear one nice thing come out of your mouth before he starts to hear the screams."

I felt my face pale and I swallowed, fighting back a shiver. "Hello Sherlock."

My sister clapped with glee. "Good! Good! Now, hose her off boys. I want her clean before we put on a show. Oh and grab that ring from around her neck. She doesn't deserve to wear our father's wedding ring."

My sister swaggered off, leaving me at the hands of the men. The one called Desmond approached me with a rather large hose, a twisted grin on his face. He jerked on the chain around my neck, tossing the ring into the darkness of the warehouse. Backing up, he nodded to another man behind him and I felt the water hit me hard in the chest, knocking the breath out of me. I struggled to get away even as he sprayed me down. As soon as I had caught my breath, Desmond was spraying me in the face.

I tried to turn my head away, but no matter where I turned, there was water. I coughed and spluttered, feeling as though I was once more in the Thames with no way to get to the surface. I knew I was going to die. In that instant, I knew that Desmond was going to drown me on dry land.

"Enough!" I heard a man bark and the water stopped.

My body sagged against my restraints and I began coughing and retching, struggling to catch my breath. A hand grabbed my face once more and I was looking into the eyes of Mr. Aling.

"Hello Ms. McKinley. How are you feeling today?"

"Go to hell."

He struck me across the face, the smile never leaving his. I felt my lip begin to bleed even as I stared at him. "Now, now, that's no way to speak to your nicest captor. You and I have a bit of a score to settle, don't we?"

I said nothing and he chuckled. "The silent treatment now, eh? That's fine. You won't be quiet for long, I can tell you that. You see, I owe you for the scar you gave me. I seem to recall a night in a pub in London when you threw a knife at me and it caught me right here." He tugged his shirt collar down, revealing a jagged scar on his collar bone. "I believe that because of this, you and I need to have a little discussion about proper meeting etiquette. Once we're done with that, Desmond would like a word with you and then a few of the other men would like to speak as well."

I heard the sharp crackle of a taser and I began to squirm, fear shooting through me. "You'll kill me if you use that on me while I'm still wet!"

Aling shook his head. "No sweetheart. You see the beautiful thing about tasers," he pressed it to my neck and pushed the button. I let out a howl of pain. "The beautiful thing is that it's not voltage that kills you, it's amps. And tasers don't have enough amps to kill you. Desmond, could you cut her out of that hideous jumper please?"

Desmond approached me, the blade of a knife glittering in his hand. He sliced through my jumper, catching the skin on my stomach. I bit down on my tongue, refusing to cry out at the pain anymore. I looked at the camera, hoping and praying that Sherlock would be able to get to me in time. I had no doubt that these men were going to torture me until I died. My mind raced for a solution to tell Sherlock where I was. Aling pressed the taser to my side and pushed the button again, holding it to my skin. My whole body arched and I felt my teeth grind together.

After what seemed like an eternity, he stopped, stepping back. "Oh, look there. A bit of a burn. Ah well. Let's see if we can match the other side."

He walked around me and I closed my eyes, trying to brace myself for the next shock. He placed it to my skin, but didn't push the button. I felt my heart begin to race with anticipation. Aling laughed. "I bet you wish you could give your little boyfriend a sign as to where you were. But you won't. He can't even track my signal back to this place. You're ours to play with for as long as we decide to keep you alive. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

He pushed the button and I heard the snap of the electricity even as my body bowed once more against my restraints. I felt the spit dribbling from the corners of my mouth, the tears streaming from my eyes. God how it hurt!

Aling stopped again, going to stand in front of me, running the taser between my legs. I whimpered, trying to close them so that he couldn't do what I know he wanted to. "Your sister tells us that the night you came to see us you had lost your virginity. Is that true?"

"Go fuck yourself," I said, trying to sound brave. I could hear the shakiness in my voice and I knew that he could too because he laughed.

"Oh, Miss Big and Bad eh? Not so big and bad when there's electricity between your thighs. You're a coward. Weak. Foolish. Thinking that we'd take you in? No…you've caused your sister so much trouble with getting this off the ground that she gave us permission to use you any way that we see fit." He turned to look at Desmond who was grinning from ear to ear. "Let her down so that we can have a good time with her."

Desmond released me and as I found my footing, I went to swing on them. But the snap of that damnable machine came and I was brought to my knees in a daze. A hand fisted in my hair, jerking me back.

"Now, we're going to have our fun with you you little whore and your boyfriend is going to watch."

I began to cry even as they tugged my pants down. I knew what was coming. I only wished that I hadn't gotten myself into this situation in the first place.

"SHERLOCK HELP ME!" I screamed even as the men descended on me.

* * *

Four hours later and I was once again strapped to the table, this time with a gag in my mouth. I had been left under a bright white light, the only source in the empty room. The men had gone and as far as I knew, I was alone. I felt ashamed and disgustingly filthy. They'd all had their way with me. I was hurting and in pain, the blood trickling down my inner thighs. They'd strapped me back into place completely naked, focusing the camera on me before leaving. I wanted to cry, but there was an emptiness inside of me now, a despair that I'd never felt before. I wanted to die, but I also wanted them dead for what they'd done to me.

I looked around, trying to see if I could figure out where they were keeping me. It was definitely a warehouse of sorts, but where I had no clue. My mind was struggling to come up with a way to escape. All that kept coming to me was their hands, rough and angry, forcing me to do things that I didn't want to. I shuddered, shutting that part of my brain down.

I could hear Aling's laugh in my mind. _'I bet you wish you could give your little boyfriend a sign as to where you were.'_

 _'A sign! That's it! What did your mother insist on teaching you when you were a small child so that you could speak to your grandmother?'_

I began to weep as that idea came to me. Slowly, I began to sign the letters, hoping and praying that Sherlock would get my message. I could only pray that he would.

* * *

 _'God…it's me, Delilah. I…know we haven't spoken for a while, but I need your help.'_ I barely even whimpered as they struck me again with a whip. _'I'm in a lot of trouble and I need you to protect me. Please. I am begging you. Please send me aid, protect me. I am sorry that we haven't had a chance to talk in a while, but I'm pretty certain that this is the third day of torture. My hands are getting too tired to keep signing all of the information I'm gathering and they are becoming more and more brutal. I can't do this anymore. I want to give up. I need help God. Please…help me.'_

I faded back into unconsciousness even as they struck me over and over again.

* * *

 _'God, why won't you help me? I'm sorry that I've been so terrible. But I am begging you. I don't want Sherlock watching this anymore. They keep telling me when he's online and offline. Aling even installed an old stoplight so that he could turn it on and off. I think they're doing it to break me. God help me, I can't take this anymore. Its been five days now or so they say. I need help. I don't want to die here.'_ I grunted as Desmond struck me in the ribs. _'I know I've done a lot of bad things, but I had to do what I did to survive. I'm trying to do the right thing. But you have to help me. Please Lord, I can't take this anymore. I can't.'_

* * *

I woke to someone's hands on me. I didn't even bother struggling anymore. What was the point? I was their human play toy. Even Olivia had had some fun with me the other day, cutting my hair and then making me eat it off the floor. I'd vomited and they'd all laughed, spraying me with the hose again. I was giving up. God wasn't answering me, Sherlock wasn't coming. I was alone and at their mercy.

I looked to see Desmond's ugly black eyes glittering up at me even as he ran his fingers down the front of my body. "Why don't you just kill me already? Get it over with?"

"Oh, don't worry. Your time is coming up. We want to get as much out of you as we can first. You're set to burn in a few days, a bonfire like nothing London has ever seen. A can of gasoline, a match. Same way your sister died." Desmond laughed. "Oh that's right. Your sister didn't die. She has been watching every single second we've been torturing you and enjoying it as much as we have."

I began to weep. When would this brutal torment end? For a second I thought I heard the sound of a car door closing, but I shook it off as the last few pieces of my broken mind hoping for rescue. It was never going to happen. Sherlock didn't care enough to find me. After all, I was only a tool for him to use on the case. He had no need for me anymore, now that he had one of their machines and the information from the memory stick. I began to cry again.

"Awwww, is wittle baby Deli crying? Don't cry luv. There's no reason to. Desmond will make you feel all better." He licked the side of my face and I let out a sob. "Now now, hush your tears. I'll be letting you down in a minute."

"Get off of her." The familiar voice echoed around the dark room and I felt my heart leap for joy. "I will not tell you again."

"And what are you going to do Mr. Consulting Detective. Shoot me?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Oh I'm going to enjoy kicking your ass all across the floor and making her watch. Then you can watch in person as I play with her."

Out of the darkness, twelve red lasers appeared, all training on Desmond's chest. Sherlock stepped into the light, a pistol in his hand. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen. You see, I was able to track you all down. I have the place surrounded with officers from both Scotland Yard and some folks with the British government who are very happy to have you all in custody. I am giving you five seconds to release her or I will shoot, very happily I might add for disturbing me at all hours with that video."

Desmond turned, going to my side, unbinding me. With the speed of a viper, he had a knife at my throat, jerking my head back. "You all can shoot me but you'll kill her. Do you really want to take that chance?" Sherlock stepped forward and I winced as the blade bit into my skin. "I will kill her Holmes. Do you want her blood on your hands?"

"Kill her then. She means nothing to me." Sherlock's voice was cold and I felt my heart break at his words.

I tried to elbow Desmond in the ribs and he laughed, keeping his hand fisted in my short hair, jerking at the roots. "You want to watch her blood spill? Is that it?"

I looked down at Sherlock's hand, catching movement from the corner of my eye. My eyes widened slightly as I caught what he was signing to me. I took a deep breath before jerking to the left, using all the strength that I had to do it. I heard a single gunshot and the knife clattered to the floor. I turned to see Desmond falling backwards, his eye socket missing. The lights came up in the warehouse and I saw John standing behind Sherlock, his own pistol out, trained on where Desmond had been standing. I curled into a small ball, trying to hide my shame and my nakedness from all of the people in the room.

I heard footsteps approaching me and felt a hand on me. I shrunk away, trembling in fear. "Easy Delilah. Easy. We're going to get you checked out. It's over now. You're safe."

"Don't touch me!" I cried, trying my best to scramble away from Sherlock despite my lack of strength. "None of you fucking touch me! DON'T!"

I felt a coat cover me and Sherlock walked away. I lay on the floor even as people ran around in the rooms surrounding us. I could see Sherlock from the corner of my eye inspecting some of the things on the table as well as the camera. Another hand touched my shoulder and I screamed, trying to get away from them, the fear overwhelming my senses.

"It's me Del. It's me. Hush. It's Mary."

I looked up to see Mary kneeling next to me, a look of sorrow on her face. "Mary?"

She nodded and I began to cry, curling up into a tighter ball even as she rubbed my arm. Mary did this until the paramedics came in. I let out a scream of fear as one of the men began to approach me. I didn't want them touching me. I didn't want any man touching me. Mary did her best to soothe me, but I was becoming hysterical as they tried to approach me.

"I'll ride with her. She's stable for now. You're only making matters worse by trying to interact with her. Stop it." Mary got to her feet, going to stand between me and the paramedic. "I will ride in the back of the ambulance with her and treat her."

"But mum, that's against protocol."

"Do you have a woman on that ambulance?"

"Well, no."

"This woman has been raped and brutalized for the past seven days by men. Do you truly think that she wishes to be touched by a man? I will ride in the back of that ambulance or I will drive her to the hospital myself. Which will it be?" Mary's voice was sharp and commanding even as she stood her ground.

"Can you even get her onto the stretcher?"

"I…I can walk myself," I croaked out, forcing myself to sit up, watching as the room spun around me. "Not one of you will touch me except Mary."

I made myself get to my feet, pulling the coat around me. I was beginning to shake and tremble, a sweat breaking out on my brow. I knew I was going into shock, but I ignored it, pushing it down. I would make it to the stretcher of my own power. I slowly shuffled towards it, stumbling only twice. Mary was there to catch me each time. I could feel every eye in the room on me and again I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. But instead I sat myself on the edge of the stretcher, pulling the coat closer around me.

They lifted me in, careful not to touch me. Before they closed the doors I found Sherlock standing amongst the throngs of police and government agents. Those eyes were locked on me and he quickly signed something to me. I faded into unconsciousness before I could process it.

* * *

"Has she woken since they brought her here?" Mary's voice was the first I heard and it was filled with concern. "I mean, you've been staying with her every day Sherlock. Has she even made a move to wake up?"

"No, not at all. The doctor's aren't surprised though. A bruised kidney, re-broken ribs, multiple burns, the cuts from them whipping her, and all of the damage they did to her when they-" Sherlock cleared his throat. "They'll be surprised if she wakes any time soon."

"Well, from her chart it says that she lost nearly ten pounds in a week and was suffering from dehydration and malnutrition when they brought her in here. You know that she's going to need a lot of time to heal, right Sherlock?" John asked and I felt a hand on my wrist. My pulse began to race. "Jesus, her heart is pounding."

"Get off of me," I whispered.

"Delilah?"

"I said get off!" I croaked, feebly jerking my hand away. "Don't touch me!"

"Easy dear. Easy." I opened my eyes to find Mary sitting next to me. "We're your friends, remember?"

"I still don't want them touching me. Especially not _him._ " I nodded towards Sherlock weakly. "I mean nothing to him."

I watched as Sherlock's spine straightened at what I said. He began to say something but John took him by the arm. "Save it for later Sherlock. We'll let Mary tell her everything that happened while she was unconscious." John turned to look at me. "We'll be back later once you two are done talking and then we'll all have a nice chat, alright?"

I only stared at him and watched as he sighed, leading Sherlock out of the room. "Text us when you two are done Mary. We'll be down in the cafeteria."

Mary handed me a glass of water once they'd left and I accepted it with shaking hands. I took a small sip before handing it back, laying back down on the pillows. "Let's get this over with."

The woman began to explain to me what had happened while I had been captured. Sherlock had spent the first two days I'd left searching all of London for me, following any and all leads that he could. He'd barely slept in that time. That night he'd gotten a message from a strange number on his phone with a link to a website. When he'd clicked on it, he'd come across the website that they'd set up with the live feed. Mary explained to me that he watched it until the point where I was raped. He'd had to turn it off.

He'd continued to watch it while they were torturing me, doing his best to try and find me and track the signal. Mary said that he had practically lived down at Scotland Yard using their computers to try and find me. She told me that when I'd begun to sign to him, it had been a great help. He'd put the website link onto his computer and had begun recording it, replaying it over and over again, only turning the feed off when I was being used by my captors. When I'd finally signed the letters S-I-S-T-E-R O-W-N B-E-N-N-E-T-T, that had given Sherlock his big break that he'd needed. He'd organized for the police department and government agencies to descend on the warehouse he'd managed to discover was owned by my sister, bought under our mother's maiden name. Mary finished by explaining that Sherlock had gotten John to take the shot on Desmond, knowing that John was more accurate with a gun and less emotionally invested than he was.

I listened in silence, staring out the window. When Mary finished, she took my hand. I only flinched at her touch. "I know this is so much to take in and I know it's overwhelming, but you're safe now. All those men are either dead or in custody, the biological weapons have all been confiscated, and their plans have been foiled. You've no reason to be afraid."

"What of my sister?" I asked, not looking at her.

Mary was quiet and I turned to her. "What of my sister? You all did capture her, didn't you?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "Somehow she got wind that we were on our way and she escaped. But we captured Mr. Aling and all of the others. He spilled his guts once the government men got ahold of him. I promise you, you are safe. We'll take care of you while you heal."

I frowned, turning to look out the window again. "When can I go home?"

* * *

Three days later, after a thorough psychiatric evaluation, I was given the all-clear to go home. In those three days, Sherlock had stayed in my room or right outside of it. More than once I had found him dozing off in the chair next to my bed. I still struggled to get away from him when he tried to touch me and after the third time of my panicking, he had stopped. We'd barely spoken to each other and I found that I didn't want to. He had nothing to say to me now that I knew where I stood with him.

I was going to start work at the clinic the following week. Both Mary and John had protested, but I'd been adamant, telling them that spending time alone at the flat wouldn't be good for me. I wanted to work and to get out in the world again. They had both begrudgingly agreed under the promise that I would only work two days a week and that I would go and see a therapist once a week. I had acquiesced to their request, stating that I would also go and find a taekwondo school that I could begin training in once more. I explained to them that I wanted to work on my skills again.

What I didn't tell them was that I couldn't remember what had happened to get me put into that warehouse in the first place.

Not once in those conversations did Sherlock say anything. Instead he listened and watched. I refused to acknowledge him. Now, we were heading towards the cab. I began to panic at the idea of an enclosed space with John and Sherlock. Mary squeezed my hand.

"It'll be okay. You can have the window seat behind the driver and I'll sit beside you. It's only a short ride from the hospital to 221b."

I gulped, nodding slowly. "Alright."

"Oh, my brother Mycroft said that he wanted to stop by tomorrow and talk if that's alright with you?" Sherlock finally spoke and I looked at him as we stood by the cab.

"Can we not do this right now?" I asked. "Let me at least get through this cab ride before you tell me that your brother wants to speak with me."

Sherlock shrugged. "Whatever you wish. It doesn't seem to matter to you what I say anyway."

The car ride was silent and my leg bounced up and down. I reached up to twirl a strand of my hair before I remembered that I didn't have a strand to twirl anymore, that Olivia had cut it. I touched the short ends, wanting to look in a mirror but knowing that if I did I would panic. I'd tried in the hospital and had gone into hysterics at my reflection.

Mary helped me out of the cab as we pulled up to the curb and as we got inside, I saw Mrs. Hudson waiting at the foot of the stairs. She covered her mouth when she saw me. "Oh dear me. Delilah, what did they do to you sweet girl?"

I felt my lower lip begin to quiver and I looked away. "I would rather not talk about it Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry. Maybe later."

"Of course dear. I'll come up and visit you tomorrow, let you get settled in." I could see the sorrow in her eyes. "Have one of the boys call me if you need anything, alright?"

"I will Mrs. Hudson. Thank you."

I began to make my way up the stairs, standing out of the way as John unlocked the door. I walked in, seeing everything as it had been before I'd left. My pillows and blanket were even on the couch, my pack sitting next to it. I sat down, looking around the room. The tears touched my eyes and I began to cry again. I was so sick of the tears, but they never seemed to stop and always came at the worst of times. Mary sat next to me, letting me cry it out. Sherlock and John left me alone even as I wept.

* * *

I sat on the couch, as I'd been doing on most of my days off, making no motion to move or do anything. I was lost in thought, unable to wrap my mind around everything. It had been two weeks since I'd been rescued and Mary and John's wedding loomed on the horizon. I had barely been able to sleep, instead spending most of my nights staring up at the ceiling, replaying every horrid thing that had happened to me in that warehouse.

I'd spoken to Mycroft several times in those two weeks, always asking questions, never seeming to care if those questions were personal or painful for me. I could see where Sherlock had gotten his deduction skills and coldness from. Mycroft was a machine and a very efficient one at that. He'd wanted to put me in hiding with my sister still out and about, but I'd convinced him not to.

I'd also spoken to my mother. They had returned from Marseille as soon as they'd found out what had happened to me. John had been the one to call and inform her and she'd rushed to the flat as soon as they'd found out. I'd told her bits and pieces, but not everything. She'd listened and soothed me as best she could when I had begun to cry.

Now though, not even the tears would come. My thoughts turned to the gun that I kept under my pillow and how easy it would be to pull that trigger. How simple it would be. Would it break John and Mary's hearts? Yes, but only for a little bit. I would soon become a distant memory. And Sherlock, well he wouldn't care, except for the fact that he would have to get a new couch because of the bloodstain in it.

I decided in that moment that that's what I would do. I couldn't live like this anymore; the night terrors, the cold sweats, the fear of having anyone other than a woman touch me. I felt unclean, soiled, broken. I hated feeling that way. I wanted to kill this shell and perhaps start anew. Or see my father. Either of those was better than what I was going through.

I grabbed the gun from under the pillow. I pressed the barrel of the gun to my temple, placing my finger on the trigger.

"You know, a woman once told a young boy in the back of a van that you should never point a loaded gun at someone you don't intend to shoot."

"Look away Sherlock. I am going to kill myself. I cannot do this anymore."

"If you cannot, then why haven't you pulled the trigger?"

I felt my grip tighten. "I will Sherlock. If you want to watch then be my guest. But don't say I didn't try to stop you."

"Delilah, listen to me. I cannot fathom what you went through. I won't even try. But I am sorry that it happened. I am sorry that I didn't get to you any sooner than I did." I heard his voice break and my hand trembled. "I know that I failed you. And I know that you hate me for it. But I am truly sorry. You know that I don't apologize to anyone, but if you're going to kill yourself, I wanted you to hear that I was sorry before you died."

My hand shook and trembled even as I continued to hold the gun to my temple. I finally let my hand drop to the couch, letting out a cry of anguish. Sherlock crossed to me, taking the gun from my hand before sitting next to me. I felt the panic rise up in my chest, but the need for human contact in that moment was greater. I threw myself into his arms, wrapping my arms around his waist, burying my face into his chest, sobbing.

I cried and cried until I had no more tears left in me. I cried for the girl that I had lost, the passion that had disappeared from me. I cried about the rape, about my lack of trust. But most of all I cried because I was sad and scared and alone, wounded and broken. Sherlock held me tight, rocking me gently back and forth. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head even as my sobs turned to sniveling.

I looked up at him, rubbing at my eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to cry like that. Would you…would you mind giving me a bit of space?"

"Certainly. Do you promise not to try and kill yourself if I do?"

"I promise."

He nodded, getting up from the couch. "I will say, it's quite difficult to kill yourself when there are no bullets in the chamber."

Sherlock walked down the hall and I reached for the gun, pulling back the slide to look in the chamber. Sure enough, there was no bullet in there. I popped the magazine out. No bullets in there. I looked to Sherlock's doorway. How had he known what I had intended to do?

* * *

I jerked upright in the bed, drenched in a cold sweat. I swung my legs over the edge, staring into the darkness, rubbing at my temples. I felt my skin crawling with the feel of their fingers on me once more. I tried to push it away, forcing my mind to brighter and happier things.

It was a month away from Mary and John's wedding. The flat was covered in all sorts of notes and scribbles. Sherlock had had people in and out constantly, interviewing people for the wedding party and reception. I was set to attend, my dress already picked out and hanging in my closet. There hadn't been a case in a long time or any sign of my sister, so I had been able to settle back in easily at 221b.

I was volunteering my time at the school and working at the clinic. I was speaking with my mother on a weekly basis and I'd even gone to visit them at their home last week. I was slowly coming out of my shell. Sherlock was letting me stay in John's old room now that John had moved in with Mary. He'd even bought me a mattress and box spring, even though I had protested. My wounds were nearly healed, leaving only scars that would soon fade as well.

So why was I still feeling terrified constantly? My therapist had tried to tell me that it was normal, especially with the unanswered question of what had happened in the park. She'd told me that it would probably take months for me to be able to interact with strangers before I felt somewhat at ease without flinching and that it would take months more to be able to sleep without nightmares constantly.

I grabbed the blanket, pulling it around my shoulders. I glanced at the clock on the wall. 1:35. Shit. I'd only been asleep for two hours. The sound of violin music floated down the hall towards me. I got out of bed, padding down the hall to where Sherlock's room was, door open a crack. I peeked in, watching as he stood at his window, intense concentration on his face even as he played, fingers flying across the strings.

"Don't stand in the doorway snooping. Come in." I stepped away, startled by his voice. I wondered if I should return to my room, pretend as if I'd never been there. "I know it's you Delilah. You still shuffle around like an old woman. I won't tell you to come in again."

I pushed the door open, stepping into the room, looking around. "You're becoming obsessed with this wedding."

"Says the woman who spends most of her free time down at a dojo."

"It's not a dojo. It's a school. And I like it there. It's not like we're ever doing anything here."

"You're never here long enough. And when you are, you lock yourself away in your room."

"Does it bother you? I mean, you prefer to be alone don't you? A high functioning sociopath wouldn't want to be around people, especially not around emotional people like me."

"What are you rambling on about?"

"Let me explain it so that even someone as cold as you can understand. Why would I want to be around someone who obviously doesn't want me around and never cared for me?" I felt myself begin to tremble with rage and the tears formed in my eyes. "Or did the camera not record the part where you told Desmond that I meant nothing to you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Is this why you've been avoiding me? Because of that one comment?"

"Sherlock, you made it painfully clear that you didn't want me. So what was I? Some sick and twisted experiment? Was sleeping with me a way to draw my sister out of hiding? Which one was it?" The tears spilled over, rolling down my face. "To think, I trusted you. I cared about you. I left because I didn't want anything to happen to you. I _prayed_ for you to come and rescue me. I begged for God to let you figure out where I was. And then you say something like that? Why did you rescue me Sherlock? Why didn't you leave me there to die since you cared so little about me?"

"I couldn't. Delilah, believe it or not, you are important to me. I don't know if Mary told you, but I looked for you day and night since the time I woke that morning and found you gone. I had every police officer combing the streets. Mary, John, and I were putting up posters. Mrs. Hudson contacted every single shop and homeless shelter within a five kilometer radius looking for you. We found your pack at the playground, along with some blood. There were signs of a struggle."

' _Signs of a struggle. Yes. That's right. I went to meet her and she was there. We spoke and then three men attacked. I took out two of them and then someone whacked me from behind. But what did we speak of?'_

"If you think after all of the trouble I went through to find you I would mean it when I said that you meant nothing, then you're a bigger fool than I thought you were." Sherlock's voice was cold and I knew that he was trying to wound me, the same way that I had wounded him.

"Sherlock, I…" What could I say? That I was hurt? That I needed more time to heal? I'd need more time for the nightmares to stop, but the healing needed to begin. "I'm sorry."

There was silence and Sherlock turned back to the window. "I'm sorry too."

I stood there for a few minutes, watching him, mind racing. "Sherlock…d-do you mind if I sleep with you tonight?"

He turned to me, eyebrows raised. "Won't you panic?"

"I'll do my best not to. I…I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't think either of us does. Please."

Sherlock crossed to the bed, pulling the covers back. "Go ahead and lay down. I'll be in bed in a bit. I have to finish composing a couple of songs for the wedding."

I nodded, slowly crawling into bed. Sherlock picked up his violin and bow once more, beginning to play the soothing melody that had enchanted me a month ago. My eyes began to droop, but before I drifted off, I mumbled something under my breath.

"What was that?"

"I said thank you, Sherlock. For everything."

With that I went to sleep and for the first time since I had been rescued, I had no nightmares.


	11. Chapter 11: The Big Day

***Hello lovelies! I managed to get two chapters done in one day, as my work schedule is going to be a bit hectic this week and I probably won't be able to write another until work. I will say that Sherlock's wedding speech is one of my favorite scenes of the series. And I did _a lot_ of looking from transcription to page and back again. I want to really really recommend Ariane DeVere for anyone who is trying to stay close to the storyline. Her transcriptions are a literal godsend. And I did use them very thoroughly. They are absolutely fantastic and I cannot sing her praises loud enough. I hope you all enjoy. The next chapter will be about the evening portion of the wedding, as well as the possibility of smut between Sherlock and Delilah afterwards. Have a wonderful weekend and I will see you lovelies in the next chapter! Enjoy!***

* * *

 **Chapter 11: The Big Day**

"Alright! That's enough training for today. Next class will be Thursday at two-thirty. We'll be practicing our kicks, so come loose and limber. We will also spend the last half of the class sparring, so please bring your protective equipment." I watched as my students began to leave and I smiled, going to the front desk. "Well, that was a fun lesson."

"You're a good teacher. You sure you don't want us to pay you for this? I mean, you're in here every week."

I looked at George, giving him a small smile. "If I can teach one of these men or women to protect themselves if they need it, then I will have gotten all the payment I need. I'm going to go and get changed. I'll see you next week?"

"Yeah, sure." I began to head towards the private locker rooms in the back when George called out, "Hey, did you want to grab a pint down at the pub one night? Get to know each other a bit?"

I shook my head, offering him a small smile. "I'm not interested right now. Thank you for the offer though. I'll keep it in mind."

I entered the locker room, quickly changing out of my dobok and into my regular street clothes. I reached for my phone as I heard it buzz against the metal of my locker. I flipped it open, reading the text. My heart began to race and I rushed out of the room.

 **HELP.**

 **BAKER ST.**

 **NOW.**

 **HELP ME.**

 **PLEASE.**

Those words raced through my mind even as I tore out of the building and down the street, shoving my way through the crowds of people. Sherlock was in trouble. What kind I didn't know. I only hoped that it wasn't my sister come back to finish what she had started.

As I arrived at the flat, I saw Greg pulling his car to the curb, running up the steps. I followed after him, my gun drawn. I hadn't gone anywhere since February without it tucked into the holster that John and Mary had gotten for me. Lestrade looked back at me, eyes wide.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are. We both got the same message."

"Put the gun away."

"Fat chance. Come on, he needs help."

We both took off up the stairs and into the flat. Lestrade was ahead of me and I stepped behind him, pointing my gun down the hallway as I looked around, trying to see the danger.

"What's going on?" I heard Lestrade as even as I turned to see Sherlock sitting at the dining room table, fingers pressed to his temples.

"This is hard."

"What?"

I crossed to what Sherlock was looking at on his laptop screen, rolling my eyes before tucking my gun back into its holster.

"Really hard," Sherlock muttered under his breath. "Hardest thing I've ever had to do." He picked up a book from the table, showing it to both Greg and I.

I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head. "How to Write an Unforgettable Best Man Speech. Are you serious Sherlock? _That's_ what the big emergency was?"

"Have either of you any funny stories about John?"

I could see the disbelief on Greg's face. I could only shake my head, leaving the room. I knew he was worried about the best man speech, but this was a bit extreme, even for him. I could hear the sirens warbling away down Baker Street, tires screeching to a halt outside.

"What?!" I heard Greg shout and I couldn't help it. I began to howl with laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"I need anecdotes, Lestrade. Do you have any?" Sherlock seemed to realize that there were sirens outside of the flat and that Lestrade was staring at him as if he had two heads. "Didn't go to any trouble, did you?"

I continued to laugh even as I heard the ambulance and the helicopter approaching. I shook my head, sitting on the couch, watching the chaos unfold. It took nearly an hour for everything to be explained and a very embarrassed Lestrade finally left the flat on the phone, no doubt explaining to his boss as to why nearly every resource that was available had converged on 221b. Sherlock still sat at the kitchen table, staring at the laptop.

I got up from the couch, going to sit next to him at the table, flipping through the pages of the book. "You know you don't need a book to tell you how to write a speech."

"Well then why don't _you_ write it for me since you're so good at it?"

I shook my head. "That's not how it works Sherlock. You have to come up with it yourself. It has to come from the heart." He scoffed. "I know that's not how you normally are, but that's what a best man's speech is all about. Telling stories about the man that come from the heart. Surely you must have some stories about yours and John's time together that you could share that would put John in a good light?"

"This is incredibly difficult. And adding emotions to the mix is not something that I am good at doing."

I patted his hand, going to retreat to my own room to write in my journal for the day. "Well, if you need any help, feel free to come and get me. I'll be in my room. No more texts to Lestrade or I scaring the hell out of us, alright? Next time a simple please help me with such-and-such would suffice."

I began to head to my room when Sherlock said, "What on earth were you planning on doing with that gun?"

I shrugged. "I suppose I would have shot the person that was trying to hurt you."

I went to my room, still chuckling at what had occurred. I would need to send a text message to Lestrade and thank him for coming to Sherlock's rescue and apologize for embarrassing him. I knew Sherlock wasn't going to do it, that much was certain.

* * *

I was curled up in Sherlock's bed when I heard the music floating towards me down the hall. I sat up, stretching slowly. I was a bit sore from the workout I'd done yesterday. I was trying to regain some of the strength I'd lost since I'd been on the run. I hadn't realized how out of shape I really was until I'd tried to do ten pull-ups in a row and had been unable to get past seven. I heard the door open and Sherlock began talking to someone, no doubt Mrs. Hudson with the morning tea.

I exited the room, heading down the hallway to find Sherlock in the middle of the living room in his dressing gown, Mrs. Hudson setting the tea down on the table by John's chair. I gave her a sleepy wave even as I sat down on the couch. "Good morning Mrs. Hudson."

"Good morning Delilah dear. Did you sleep well? Did Sherlock's dancing wake you?"

"I was road-testing."

"You what?"

I watched as Sherlock grew impatient, throwing his pen down. "Why are you here?"

"Morning tea Sherlock," I said, giving Mrs. Hudson a small smile. "You're normally not awake when she brings it."

I watched as she poured milk into a teacup. "She's right. You're not usually awake."

Mrs. Hudson handed me my cup and I took it gratefully, taking a sip.

"You bring me tea in the morning?"

I nearly choked on the sip I'd taken and I fought back the urge to laugh. The look on Mrs. Hudson's face was amusing. "Well, where d'you think it came from?"

Sherlock looked confused. "I don't know. I just thought it sort of _happened._ "

I bit back another laugh, ignoring the glare that Sherlock was throwing in my direction. I took another sip, wanting to watch how this was going to unfold.

"Your mother has a lot to answer for," Mrs. Hudson replied even as she handed him his cup and saucer.

"Mm, I know. I have a list. Mycroft has a _file._ "

Mrs. Hudson and I both giggled, the landlady sitting down in John's chair. "So, it's the big day then!"

Sherlock took a sip of tea. " _What_ big day?"

I rolled my eyes. "Really Sherlock? You can't be serious right now."

"The wedding!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed and I was happy to see her face light up. "John and Mary are getting married!"

"Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, and then carry on living together. What's big about that?"

"I mean, if that's what you see marriage as, then you and Delilah should be getting married within the next few months or so," Mrs. Hudson shot back and I got to my feet, not wanting to be part of the conversation anymore as my face flushed.

"Thank you for the tea Mrs. Hudson. I need to be getting ready. You and Sherlock have a lovely chat. I'll see you later on at the wedding."

I hurried out of the room, heading down to the hall to my bedroom. I set my tea cup and saucer on my bedside table before closing and locking the door behind me. I took my outfit out of the closet, looking at it closely. I remembered going shopping for it with Mary. She'd said that I had looked beautiful, but it had been hard to believe.

I looked in the mirror I'd bought the other day, wincing at my reflection. I still wasn't used to the short hair or the haunted look in my eye. The therapist said that that was normal and that I would more than likely find my reflection jarring while I was still readjusting. I sighed. Why couldn't things go back to the way they were?

' _Because that's not the way the world works.'_

I began to work on my make-up. I'd bought some the other day when I'd bought the small mirror, knowing that I'd need it for the wedding. I tried to replicate the look that Mary had done for Valentine's day with Sherlock and after about thirty minutes, I felt satisfied. I touched my hair, not wanting to deal with it. I knew it had to be done though. I grabbed the hair straightener, plugging it in and turning it on. As I waited for it to heat up, I put my dress on, zipping it up in the back.

It was a simple dress, a knee-length navy blue dress with gold trim and a gold belt. The only thing that made me uncomfortable with it was how low-cut it was. But it had made Mary happy to see me in it and so I'd bought it.

The green light switched on for the straightener and I nearly jumped out of my skin as a knock came at my door. I unlocked it, opening it to find Sherlock standing outside. He stared down at me and I found myself unable to read his expression.

"Was I interrupting?"

"Would you care if you were?" I asked, going back to my small table, standing in front of the mirror. "What do you want Sherlock?"

"I wanted to speak with you before the wedding. Are you going to be alright being separated from me?"

I rolled my eyes, grabbing a lock of my hair and straightening it. "Sherlock, I'm a grown woman, not a child. I'll be fine. I'm still in sight of you, Mary, and John. Stop worrying."

"I'm not worrying. I only wanted to make certain that you weren't going to go into hysterics being separated."

"I've been separated from you before when I go down to the school or the clinic."

"There's going to be a lot of people here though. If you need anything-"

"Sherlock. Go and get ready. Practice your speech while you do. I'll see you when we're ready to leave."

Sherlock swept out of the room and I heard him say, "Into battle."

I finished my hair, sliding a gold flower hair band into my hair. I finger combed the front, sweeping it across my forehead. I looked at myself in the mirror, frowning. I wasn't satisfied with how I looked, but I knew that it was the best that I could do. Besides, it was Mary's special day, not mine.

My phone vibrated on the table and I picked it up, opening it to find a picture of Mary in her gown.

 _ **How do I look? –MM**_

 _ **Beautiful, as usual. Are you nervous? –DM**_

 _ **Of course. Send me a picture! I want to see what you look like! –MM**_

 _ **But you'll see me soon enough! :) –DM**_

 _ **Come on. One picture. Oh, I wish you'd accepted my invitation to be in my wedding party. I would have loved for you to be one of my bridesmaid's. You could have been partnered with Sherlock even. –MM**_

 _ **I'm fine without being in the wedding party. Besides, lilac doesn't fit my complexion. Here. I'll send you a photo. One second. –DM**_

I snapped a photo, quickly sending it to Mary. I waited what seemed like an eternity for a reply.

 _ **Oh my goodness! You look beautiful! I'm forwarding this to John so he can see! I must say, I really like you with short hair. It definitely enhances your features, especially those cheekbones. –MM**_

 _ **Thank you Mary. It means a lot coming from you. We'll see you shortly, alright? Don't be nervous. You're marrying a good man. I'm so happy for the both of you. –DM**_

 _ **Thank you! I can't wait to see you. Promise me that you'll at least have one dance with me? –MM**_

 _ **Haha of course. That's if I can get John's hands off of you. I'll talk to you soon. –DM**_

 _ **Talk to you soon! Love you Del! –MM**_

I closed the phone, grabbing the purse off of the door handle. I tucked my phone inside, making sure that my pistol was also in there. I slipped into the low gold heels before stepping out into the hallway. I looked to Sherlock's room, catching a glimpse of him bare-chested out of the corner of my eye. I blushed, walking down the hallway to sit on the couch.

Sherlock finally finished getting dressed and I rose, giving him a small smile. "You look positively dashing."

"This is uncomfortable. I can't believe I have to carry around this ridiculous hat."

"Might I remind you that you're the one who decided on all of this?"

"Was I? What on earth was I thinking?"

"That you wanted your best friend to be happy and to have a good time at his wedding," I replied, going to straighten his tie. "Things are going to be fine. It's going to be a wonderful time and then everything will go back to normal. We can even work on the case of the ghost man once we're finished."

"We?"

"Aye. I was thinking…Sherlock, I want to start running cases with you."

"You? Why?"

I took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. "Marriages change thing Sherlock. There will be times when John can't go on a case with you. I was hoping that maybe you and I could work the ones that John doesn't go with you on. We worked the one with my sister pretty well."

"If by pretty well you mean you were abducted and tortured for seven days, then yes, it went pretty well."

I was hurt by his words and I stepped away from him. "I see…well then, let's get going, shall we? They're not going to stop an entire wedding waiting on us."

We left the flat and I refused to speak to him the entire trip. What could I possible have to say to someone that would throw my past into my face so quickly?

The wedding was beautiful and I cried when Mary and John said their I do's. I was so happy for them even as I sat towards the back of the church. I could catch Sherlock glancing at me, but I ignored him, focusing instead on the ceremony. They all went outside for pictures and I stood to the side, trying to avoid most of the people. A hand grabbed my arm and I nearly jumped.

"Come on Del! Come take a few pictures with me!" Mary dragged me to stand in front of the camera with her. I forced a few smiles before she pulled me away, looking me up and down.

"It looks much better in person, that's for sure! And you put on make-up! I'm so proud of you."

"Shouldn't I be the one complimenting you?" I asked with a laugh. "You look absolutely stunning. John is a lucky man."

"What's this about me?" I heard John ask behind me and I turned, giving him a smile.

"Ah, Doctor Watson, just the man I wanted to congratulate." I gave him a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I was telling Mary what a lucky man you were. You'd best take good care of her John."

John laughed, a smile on his face. "Did you enjoy the ceremony?"

"Very much so. You looked very handsome up there and Mary looked beautiful. You two are going to have a very wonderful marriage, I can tell." I looked up to see Sherlock snapping a few photos with the chief bridesmaid. "How do you think Sherlock is doing?"

"Why don't you ask him?" John questioned. "Or are you two not speaking?"

I gave John a small smile. "I've been busy training and at the practice. Well, you two know. You've seen me practically every day."

Mary looked at me quizzically. "John, could we have a moment? Please?"

"Of course. I'll go and bring the car around so that we can go to the reception. Don't want to keep everyone waiting."

Mary pulled me to the side even as I caught a snippet of what the chief bridesmaid was saying to Sherlock. Something about sex. I felt my face blush and I had to resist the urge to turn and say something to her. Instead I turned to look at Mary, who had a look of concern in her eyes.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. A bit overwhelmed is all. This is the first big event since February that I've been to. I'm fine."

"Something's wrong. Don't lie to me. I can tell. What did he say?"

"It was nothing. We're fine. Besides, I think he has taken a liking to your chief bridesmaid. What was her name again?"

"Janine. She's a bit…overzealous with men. I wish you'd taken her spot honestly, with all the work that you and Sherlock put into planning this wedding."

"Oh, I barely did anything. Sherlock did most of it."

"You helped keep him on track with it and not get sucked into his own little world. That's more than most people." I heard a car horn honk in the distance. "That's John with the car. Don't forget, you promised me a dance later!"

"I won't!" I called back before heading to grab one of the many taxis that were waiting to take everyone to the reception. As I was pulling off, I watched as Janine grabbed Sherlock's hand. I definitely wanted to say something to her now.

Instead I bit my tongue, keeping a tight grip on my purse even as I rode over to the reception venue.

* * *

I once again said my congratulations to Mary and John as they stood outside, finding Sherlock standing close behind them. I stepped next to him even as the other guests came. "Why are you hovering?"

"I'm making certain that no one that is here makes a fool of themselves."

"You're intimidating them."

"So?"

I sighed. "Where's your date?"

"Who?"

"Your date. Janine? The woman you were holding hands with earlier?"

"Probably inside, no doubting trying to flirt with anything that has a pulse. Why are you so interested?"

"Well I'd like to know who you're bringing back to the flat once this wedding is over with. Don't want to step out of the room and catch her naked in the bathroom or something."

I saw the color appearing on Sherlock's cheeks, but he said nothing, focused on a gentleman in an obnoxiously purple tie. I leaned towards Sherlock, muttering, "Wasn't that the gentleman that you thought still had feelings for Mary?"

He nodded curtly, eyes never leaving the man. I'd been home for that meeting, curled up in my bed even as I heard Sherlock interview him. I'd been reading a book when I'd heard the man call Sherlock a psychopath. I'd silently laughed when Sherlock had corrected him and the man had left shortly after that. I'd told him that perhaps that was a bit overboard, but he hadn't wanted to hear it, mumbling something about making certain that John and Mary were happy.

After the man left, giving both Sherlock and I nasty glances, a young boy bounced up behind a woman in a black and white dress, throwing himself at Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his waist. I smiled, recognizing the child from the flat. I'd been teaching a class at the school and had come home to find Sherlock at his desk, showing him pictures of cases. While I hadn't approved, the boy hadn't seemed traumatized. In fact, he'd seemed enthused and Sherlock had appeared to be content with having the boy around.

"Well, um, well done in the service Archie."

The mother said something and I decided that that would perhaps be the best time to make my exit. I could feel Sherlock's eyes on me even as I walked away. I joined Lestrade at our table, chatting with him a bit. I was distracted, I would admit it. There were many things swirling around in my mind and most of them had to do with one Sherlock Holmes.

I kept glancing up at Sherlock, who had that damnable Janine woman hovering around him. I must have made a face because Lestrade chuckled.

"What's so funny? Did I miss a joke?"

Greg shook his head. "I never thought I'd live to see the day where a woman would be jealous over Sherlock Holmes. So how long have you two been seeing each other?"

"What?" I felt my brow knit with confusion. "He and I aren't dating,"

"The way you look at him, yes you are. It doesn't take the world's most brilliant consulting detective to figure that out. So when's _your_ wedding? Hmmm?"

I must've had a horrified look on my face because Greg let out a raucous laugh. "Come on now, you can't be serious. You two live together and I've seen the way he looks at you. When you were missing, he worked day and night to find you. Hell, I've never seen him so fired up, except that one time with Mrs. Hudson."

I looked at him questioningly. "What happened with Mrs. Hudson?"

"Someone broke into the flat and held Mrs. Hudson hostage." I looked over at the older woman chatting with the gentleman from the sub shop next door. "I got a call from Sherlock saying that someone had broken into the flat and the burglar had fallen out of the window. When we got there, the man, he was in very bad shape. To be honest with you, the paramedics didn't think he was going to make it." Greg took a swig from his glass. "Oh, it looks as if John's friend showed up. Good for him. From what I heard, he's a bit of a hermit."

I rose from the table. "I'm going to go and speak with Mary for a moment. I'll be back of course."

"I'll be here, enjoying my drink. No rush. Wasn't really having a conversation with you or anything."

I walked away, tightening my grip on my purse. I stepped next to Sherlock, taking his arm. "Is there somewhere that we can go? Somewhere private to talk?"

"Oh! Major Sholto! This is Sherlock's new flat mate and Mary's newest friend, Delilah McKinley."

I quickly changed gears, offering my hand to the man. "How are you doing today? It's a delight to meet you. John has told Mary and I so much about you."

"I'm doing fine. Glad I could make it." He didn't sound it and I could tell that the man was nervous. "Perhaps we'll chat in a bit after supper?"

"Of course," I said softly, offering the man a gentle smile. "I believe I would enjoy that. A nice chat with a friend of John's."

I turned back to Mary and Sherlock, watching as Mary made a face taking a sip of wine. "What's the matter? Don't like the taste?"

"Oh, I thought I did. It's the wine I picked out. Do you suppose that they grabbed the wrong bottle?"

"Highly doubtful. Anyway, Sherlock, now that Janine has disappeared, do you think we could go and talk for a moment?"

"Certainly." Sherlock turned to Mary. "Stop smiling."

"It's my wedding day!" She said indignantly even as we began to walk away.

We entered a side hallway and I pulled away from him, crossing my arms across my chest. "We need to talk."

"What about?"

"About us. And about our living situation. And about going on cases together."

"Do we have to do this now? Can't it wait until after the wedding?"

"No, it can't. If I have to see that woman on your arm one more time fawning over you I'm going to-" I paused, seeing the smirk on Sherlock's face. "What on earth is so funny?"

"You are. Jealousy doesn't suite you dear. Neither does rage. Although it's good to see a bit of fire back in you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You, Delilah. Me being around Janine has brought the fire back in you, if only because your hormones are raging and you're jealous about the fact that she's around me when you're not. Believe me when I say, I am not interested."

"But…I overheard you two talking about sex after the ceremony."

"I believe she was trying to make a joke. It was a poor attempt."

"I saw you holding hands!"

"Yes and as I said, I am not interested. In fact, it makes me fairly uncomfortable to hold her hand, especially when you are present at this ceremony." Sherlock offered me his hand. "Will you please believe me when I say that you are the only person that I am interested in going back to the flat with?"

Slowly, I took his hand and he pulled me close to him. I looked into his eyes, seeing those brilliant galaxies swirling around in them for the first time since February. I gave him a small smile, realizing that I wasn't trying to run away screaming. He tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.

"Well?"

"Well what?" I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "You know, to kiss you."

I let out an irritated sigh, letting my arms drop to my side even as I pulled away. "You can't be serious right now. I have to ask you to- are you joking with me? Oh good Lord, I can't-"

Sherlock grabbed my hand, pulling me tight against him, kissing me soundly. I felt a twinge of panic in my heart, but the feeling of Sherlock's lips against mine, being safely tucked in his arms, it made me feel calm. He pulled away and began to walk away, leaving me to stand there, dazed and confused by our kiss.

I returned to the table with Lestrade, sitting down next to him once more. He looked up at me, a knowing smile on his face. Dinner went by smoothly and I did my best to keep myself in the conversation, speaking with Molly and her fiancé, as well as Lestrade. As we finished the final course, I heard the clear sound of someone tapping crystal with a fork.

"Pray silence for the best man."

I watched as Sherlock rose to his feet and I felt bad for him. He looked terribly nervous. I hadn't realized how much this speech had been bothering him. I should have known. He wasn't good at making speeches. Our night together had no doubt been helped by alcohol, but Sherlock hadn't touched a single drop at the reception.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends…and…erm…others." He looked around nervously and I could tell that John and Mary were worried. "Er…w…"

I caught his eye, giving him a gentle nod, wishing that I could comfort him. I looked at Lestrade, who glanced at me, and I could tell that even he was worried. "Is he alright?"

"I think he's a bit frozen," Greg whispered back.

"First things first. Telegrams." I watched as Sherlock picked them up, showing them to all the guests. "Well, they're not actually telegrams. We just _call_ them telegrams. I don't know why. Wedding tradition."

I giggled softly to myself. I could tell that Sherlock hated standing up there, reading aloud. He looked so uncomfortable. I kept catching his eye as he read and he seemed a bit calmer each time afterwards. I did my best to offer him gentle smiles.

"To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big…" he paused and I could hear the disdain in his voice as he read the next lines, "big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted."

I had to hold back my laughter even as Sherlock continued. Finally he ran out of telegrams and I realized that the entire room seemed to know what was coming next. It was as if every guest was holding their breath. Even Mary and John looked on edge. I raised my hand discreetly as I caught Sherlock's eye. I quickly signed, Y-O-U-R-E G-R-E-A-T. He gave me a small smile.

"John Watson. My friend, John Watson." He looked down for a moment before looking at John. "John." I saw John smile at him and Sherlock turned to look at the audience again. "When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused. I confess at first I didn't realize he was asking me. When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and surprised. I explained to him that I'd never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it."

"I'll say," I muttered under my breath, remembering the day that I'd received a text message saying that he was in trouble.

"I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was, for me, as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he'd placed in me and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being…moved by it." I could tell by the look on John's face that he couldn't remember the conversation at all. "It later transpired that I had said _none_ of this out loud." I giggled, covering my mouth with my hand, seeing Lestrade holding back laughter out of the corner of my eye. I watched as Sherlock reached into his pocket, clearing his throat again as he flipped through cue cards. He finally looked up, catching my eye before turning to John.

"I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you." My eyes widened with surprise and I saw that Mary had the same look on her face.

' _Please Sherlock. Please dear God don't make an ass out of yourself. Not now,'_ I thought to myself, my gaze flicking to the ceiling with my silent prayer.

"All emotions, and in particular, love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things." Our eyes met for the briefest of moments and I saw them soften a bit. "A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world." I held back a groan, shaking my head slightly. "Today, we honor the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and in time, one feels certain, our entire species." I could see the look of horror on Molly and Lestrade's faces, as well as some of those in the crowd. "But anyway, let's talk about John."

"If I burden myself with a little help-mate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me. Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides." I could only watch on in horror, unable to stop Sherlock from speaking. "It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favor exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel." I had to hold back a giggle as Janine looked up at him when he said those words. "Contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it _would_ be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot."

I covered my mouth with my hand and I saw that Mary had placed her face in the palm of her hand and John was trying to hide behind his. Guests began muttering to themselves and I looked to Molly, whose look of horror was only growing with every word that Sherlock spoke.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-round obnoxious asshole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful," his eyes fell on me and I blushed. "And uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend. Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing."

I smiled. I could see where Sherlock was going with his speech and I was proud of him. He'd found his heart and had found his speech in that small box of empathy and feelings he kept locked away.

"John, I am a ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I'm apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion." I felt myself bristling, preparing my lecture to Sherlock in my head. "Actually, now I can. Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war and injury and tragic loss," he leaned down, muttering something to John before straightening up. "So know this. Today, you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for May as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

I felt the tears touch my eyes, slipping down my face. He had done it. He had actually done it. I couldn't be more proud of him, putting his thoughts and feelings out there for everyone to see. I looked around to see that there were many other guests crying and I dabbed at my eyes with a napkin, getting up from the table, making my exit. I needed a bit of air and a chance to refresh myself. I could feel Sherlock's eyes on me as I slipped out of the room.

I returned when he was telling the story of the Bloody Guardsman, slipping into my seat beside Greg once more. I'd heard the story twice, once from John's perspective and once from Sherlock's. I'd also read it on John's blog more than a few times. The case had intrigued me. And when I'd gone shooting, it was all that Lestrade and the other detectives could talk about. How could someone get into the shower and stab the poor man without a trace?

I also remembered coming home from class and finding dozens of little napkins all around the flat. It had been most irritating to pick them all up from the floors and counter tops. I'd spent most of the afternoon and evening picking them up before going to bed.

"Come on, come on, there is an element of Q and A to all of this," I heard Sherlock say, snapping me out of my memories. "Scotland Yard. Have _you_ got a theory?"

I watched as Greg raised his head, staring at Sherlock blankly. I knew nothing good was going to come of this even as Greg began to stammer out an explanation. I could only stifle a giggle. I watched as Molly's fiancé stood up, offering up some theory of a meat dagger. I couldn't help but laugh at that one and Sherlock shot me a glance.

"Have you got any ideas then Delilah?"

I felt all eyes turn slowly to me and I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks. I slowly got to my feet, staring at the crowd. "I…erm, well, when I read the blog entry, I thought perhaps someone had planted something in the shower, knowing when he would come off shift. B-but…that would be a bit impossible wouldn't it? I mean, how is an attempted murderer going to know that it's going to be their target that steps into a shower and not someone else. I will say that I believe somehow, someone planted a weapon somewhere near the gentleman, knowing his habits and his schedule." I sat back down, but I noted that there was a look of approval in Sherlock's eye.

"Close, but no. There was one feature and only one feature of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson, who while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life. There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling." Sherlock looked down at John. "The best and bravest man I know and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff. Except wedding planning and serviettes, he's rubbish at those."

I chuckled, knowing it to be true. Trying to get John to help plan the wedding was like trying to pull teeth.

"The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly planned murder, or attempted murder, I've ever had the pleasure to encounter; the most perfect locked room mystery of which I am aware. However, I'm not just here to praise John. I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some-"

Greg sat up, calling out, "No, no wait, so how was it…how was it done?"

"How was what done?" Sherlock asked, sounding exasperated.

"The stabbing."

Sherlock paused and I could tell he looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. That's…it can happen sometimes. It's very…very disappointing." He paused again and I could see that he was far away from the reception. "Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits."

Oh, I remembered their stag night. I also remembered getting a call from Lestrade early in the morning saying that John and Sherlock had ended up in the lock-up overnight. I'd taken a cab down to go and pick them up with Greg. I'd lectured the both of them about their stupidity, not caring that their heads hurt. They'd acted like fools and I'd had no sympathy for either John or Sherlock that day.

I was snapped back to reality once more by Sherlock's voice. "A word to the wise. Should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that, I should know. He has saved mine so many times and in so many way." Sherlock held up the phone to the crowd. "This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures of murder, mystery, and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story, a bigger adventure." I looked up to see Mary and John smiling at Sherlock.

"Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding." I got to my feet, as did the rest of the crowd, raising my glass to the lovely couple. "Today begins the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is-"

I watched as a look of realization crossed Sherlock's face. I immediately set my glass down. I knew that look. I recognized it from the night that we'd figured out that my sister was going to bomb Tower Bridge. I began to move towards the head table, knowing that something was about to happen even as the glass tumbled from his fingers.

I grabbed an extra chair from against the wall as I was moving and sat it down directly next to Mary. She looked at me with wide eyes. "Delilah, what are you doing?"

"Don't ask. Something's wrong. Act normal."

Her face went pale even as Sherlock said, "And down again."

The guests all looked around the room, murmuring amongst themselves. I looked to Sherlock, noting that he was looking at every male in the room. What was he thinking?

"Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech, get off early, leave them laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now," Sherlock vaulted himself over the table to the gasps of the crowd. Mary grabbed for my hand. "Part two. Part two is more action-based. I'm going to…walk around, shake things up a bit. Who'd go to a wedding? That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?" I watched as he was two-thirds of the way through the room before he turned. "Well, everyone. Weddings are great! Love a wedding."

"What's he doing?" Mary asked John.

"Something's wrong," John muttered back, his eyes never leaving Sherlock.

"Something is very wrong," I said, slipping out of my shoes and grabbing the gun out of my purse, keeping it hidden under the table so as not to startle the other guests and Mary.

"And John's great too! Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his…jumpers…and he can cook. Does a…thing with stir fry, very delicious. Delilah and I had it once." Sherlock paused and I could see him gritting his teeth, even at that distance. "Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er…"

"Come on Sherlock, what are you thinking? What are you doing? You have to fill us in," I muttered under my breath. A picture was beginning to form in my mind. The Mayfly Man. Something had triggered Sherlock to think about him and that case. But what?

It dawned on me. Sherlock thought that the Mayfly Man was there at that very moment. But why? Why would he be there? My mind was racing even as I looked out over the crowd. My eyes rested on Major Sholto. I knew in that instant even as I tucked my gun into my purse that the Major was in danger. It all made sense. Someone wanted him dead. Why not the Mayfly Man? But how? And for what reason?

"Sorry, did I say murder?" I heard Sherlock say. "I meant to say marriage, but, you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other and it's over when one of them is dead." I noted the emphasis that Sherlock put on the letter d and I knew that he was trying to get his point across. "In fairness, murder is a lot quicker though. Janine!"

I watched as the woman who had been sitting next to Sherlock looked up, wide-eyed. "What about this one? Acceptably hot? More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear and hasn't bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone."

I watched as he typed away on his phone as he spoke and I quickly grabbed mine, waiting for the message. Sherlock looked to Greg. "Geoff, the gents." When Greg made no move to go, Sherlock said, "The loos, now, please."

"It's Greg," I heard Lestrade say through gritted teeth.

My phone vibrated and I looked at the message that had appeared.

 _ **Lock this place down.**_

This was followed quickly by another text. _**Gun ready. Mayfly on the wall.**_

"Sherlock, any chance of an end date for this speech? We've got to cut the cake."

Sherlock practically danced down the aisle, a wide smile on his face. I pulled my gun out of my purse once more, knowing that we'd need all the help we could get. "Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, can't stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos."

I knew that phrase. We'd been discussing it one day, how it was used as a code word in the army and how John had only had to use it a handful of times. I watched as he straightened up in his chair. Mary looked confused.

"What did he say? What's that mean?"

"Battle stations. Someone's going to die," John whispered and I felt my grip on my pistol tighten.

Someone was going to die. I knew who it was. Sherlock didn't yet, but I did. I could see it plain as day. Who was the most hated man in the room beside Sherlock? Who had had multiple death threats, who had only come because John was getting married?

"You," I heard Sherlock say softly, pointing at John, approaching the high table. "It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right."

"What do I do?" John asked.

"Well, you've already done it. Don't solve the murder. Save the life. Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!" I watched as he clapped his hands together, a crazed smile on his face. I hadn't seen this side of Sherlock before and I didn't know if it frightened me or excited me. "Let's play a game. Let's play Murder."

"Sherlock," I heard Mrs. Hudson say disapprovingly.

"Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"

"I think you're a popular choice at the moment dear."

"If someone could move Mrs. Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely. More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding? Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues." I felt my eyes widen at his words. "Now John I'd poison. Sloppy eater, dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way. He has never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue." He paused, turning to look at me for a second. "Delilah I would strangle. When you're intimate with someone and they trust you, it's easy to wrap a scarf around their neck and choke them. Especially if they're into the riskier side of things in the bedroom. She wouldn't even know it was happening until it was too late." I felt my cheeks burning at his words.

I realized what he was doing. I tried to think to him who to look at, but I knew that Sherlock was too far gone in his own thought process to realize that the answer was right in front of him. That was the problem with Sherlock. Once you got him on one train of thought, it was hard to de-rail him until he reached his own conclusion, even if you had seen the end of it before he had.

I watched in amazement as Sherlock finally reached the conclusion on his own and Major Sholto slowly turned in his chair to look up at him. I was poised to move, my hand gripping my pistol tight, my body ready to spring. The blood was pounding in my ears and the entire world seemed to slow down as the adrenaline took hold.

Major Sholto rose from his table and I rose as well, watching as he grabbed his ceremonial sword. I texted Sherlock quickly.

 _ **It's about time. I figured it out before you did. I'm tailing him now. You keep distracting the crowd.**_

I slipped away, following the man as he left the room. I walked barefoot, pistol out and at the ready. He turned once we were out of the room and looked at me with wide eyes. "Get away from me!"

"Stop. I am Sherlock's friend and I am not going to harm you. I've come to protect you."

"You've got a gun and someone in that room wanted to kill me. How do I know it's not you?"

"Because if it was me, you'd be dead already," I answered. "I know what it's like to be afraid for your life. But I need you to trust that Sherlock will solve this mystery and that we will protect you."

"Leave me be. I'm tired of this." The Major took off for his room and I followed after him.

Unfortunately, the Major was too quick and he slipped into his room, locking me out. I stood outside, pounding on the door. "Come on Major, listen to me. It's going to be fine."

"How do you know? I've had these people after me for months. I don't want to do this anymore."

I sat down against the wall. "I've been where you are. Believe me when I say I have. Have you thought of therapy? It's actually a wonderful invention."

"Oh shut up. I don't need some doctor telling me that I'm crazy."

I watched as John, Mary, and Sherlock came running down the hall towards me. Sherlock stepped over me, hand slamming against the door. "Major Sholto? Major Sholto!"

"If someone is about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time. I'm ready."

"Major, let us in," John said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Kick the door down," Mary and I said simultaneously.

"I really wouldn't," the Major said calmly. "I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."

"You're not safe in there. Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him," Sherlock said through the door.

"The invisible man," I whispered in horror.

"The invisible man with the invisible knife," Sholto concluded.

"I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him. That means he'll do it again."

"Solve it then," I heard Sholto snap from the other side.

Sherlock looked taken aback as I stared up at him apprehensively. "I- I'm sorry?"

"You're the famous Mr. Holmes," he said through the door. "Solve the case. On you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door."

"Please," John pleaded, stepping forward again. "This is not time for games. Just let us in! You're in danger!"

"So are you, so long as you're here," Sholto stated firmly. Mary and I watched as Sherlock paced back and forth. "Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don't approve of collateral damage."

Mary turned to Sherlock. "Solve it."

He stopped, looking at Mary. "Sorry?"

I grabbed his arm. "Sherlock, solve it and he'll open the door, like he said. You have to solve it."

"If I couldn't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"

"Because it matters now!" Mary sounded impatient and worried.

"What are you talking about? What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."

"She's right," John said, wrapping an arm around Mary's waist.

"Oh, you've changed!"

"No she is," John insisted before pointing at Sherlock. "Shut up. You are not a puzzle solver, you never have been. You're a drama queen. Now, there is a man in there about to die. 'The game is on.' Solve it!"

I turned my attention back to the door, knowing that there was going to be a fight and I didn't want to be caught in the middle. "Major Sholto, can you still hear me?"

"You're the girl that was following me, correct?"

"Yes, that's me."

"What would you do in my situation then?"

I paused, resting my hand against the wood. "Come closer to the door. I'm not going to try to break it down. I don't have the strength to do that." I heard the man walk towards the door. "Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"I would trust Sherlock Holmes. He's one of the best men I've ever met, besides John and my father. And he'll help you."

"The man is insane."

I shook my head, smiling. "He may seem like it. But he's passionate. And he doesn't know how to express that passion in any other way than his crazy antics. Please Major Sholto, I know you don't trust any of us, but I need you to trust those soldier instincts. I need you to believe that we can help you."

Sherlock moved me gently to the side. "Major Sholto, no one is coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."

"What did you say?"

I looked up at Sherlock in horror. "What?"

"Don't take off your belt."

"My belt?"

"Just do as he says Major," I said through the door.

Sherlock began explaining his theory to Mary and John that a blade had been put in the belt and keeping the belt on was the only reason that the Major was alive. That's why a weapon had never been found at the first crime scene. I saw the realization dawning on both of their faces.

"Major Sholto?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

A sense of dread began to creep up my back. "It's hard to kill yourself when there's no bullets in the gun. But when you know there are…oh God. Sherlock…" Sherlock glanced down at me. "He's tired. He doesn't want to do this anymore."

"So, I was to be killed in my uniform. How appropriate."

"He solved the case, Major. You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal," Mary said, forcing her way between Sherlock and I. I could hear the worry in her tone.

"I'm not even supposed to have this anymore," I heard the Major say to himself in the room. "They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose, given the circumstances, I don't have to. When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue."

John pushed between Sherlock and Mary now. "Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it right now. I will kick this door down."

"I'll help him!" I said, stepping back with John.

"Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think."

"Yes, I think we are," Sherlock replied softly.

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?"

"Of course there is."

"And one should embrace it when it comes, like a soldier."

"No!" I gasped in horror. "No, you can't!"

"Of course one should, but not at John's wedding," Sherlock said quickly. "We wouldn't do that, would we, you and me? We would never do that to John Watson."

We all listened with baited breath and I watched as John shrugged out of his jacket. "I'm going to break it down."

"I'm going to help you," I said, taking a few steps back from the door.

"No, wait, you don't have to."

"Hmmm?"

We all watched as the door swung open. Sholto glanced briefly at Sherlock and myself before lowering his eyes. He finally looked up at John. "I believe I am in need of medical attention."

"I believe I am your doctor."

We all entered the room and I let out a sigh of relief. That was one crisis averted. Unfortunately, there was still a whole evening of wedding left. I could only hope that the rest of the wedding was going to be less eventful.


	12. Chapter 12: Sherlock, I

***Hello lovelies! I was happily surprised that I finished this chapter today. I really enjoyed writing it. There are definitely a few touching moments in here, as well as a bit more smut. We're getting pretty close to the end of things, at least for this one. I was planning on doing a sequel to this. Well, I wasn't planning it, but the thought crossed my mind right before I went to sleep last night. I hope you guys are enjoying this. If you'd like for me to keep this as one long story, I'm more than happy to do that. Let me know what you guys think! And again, I'm using Ariane DeVere's transcripts. I want to give them credit as they did an amazing job. Thank you all so so much for reading and I really appreciate it!***

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Sherlock, I…**

I had finally made my way back downstairs after making certain that Major Sholto would be alright. I knew he was in good hands though, especially with John and Mary attending him until emergency services arrived. I could only wonder if Sherlock knew who the Mayfly Man was. I was about to enter the reception hall once more when someone caught my arm. I whirled to find Sherlock staring down at me, his phone in his hand.

"We need to talk."

He led me down one of the many hallways before stopping in his tracks, spinning me to look at him. "So, you figured it out before I did, did you? How?"

"Simple. If something were going wrong at a wedding and it attracted _your_ attention, it would be a murder. And who in that room is most likely to be murdered? Aside from you or I of course. Major Sholto."

"You know who the Mayfly Man is then, yes?"

I hesitated before shaking my head. "No. I don't. I was more worried about-"

"Saving the life than solving the crime. Yes, you and John are quite similar in that regard. Well, good thing we weren't counting on _you_ to capture the criminal or else he would have made another attempt." Sherlock sniffed and I could see the contempt in his eyes. "And here you are, wanting to run cases with me. If you want to solve these crimes with me, you have to be able to see the entire scope, not just those who are in danger."

"Fine. You've proven your point. I'm not capable of working a case with you," I said bitterly, going to walk away from him. "I need to find my shoes."

"Quite the contrary actually," Sherlock called as I walked away. I stopped, turning to look at him with narrowed eyes. "I was merely teaching you what I require in the future if you're going to work with me. I need someone to balance me out and with Mary and John expecting-"

My eyes went wide and a look of horror crossed Sherlock's face. "They-they're- are you serious?"

"I've said too much. I don't even think that she knows."

"Sherlock, they're going to have a baby?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, crossing to me to grab my arm, swinging me to look at him. "Keep quiet about it! Didn't I say that I don't even think Mary knows?"

"I will. Are you going to tell them?"

"I'm going to suggest a pregnancy test, yes."

I clapped my hands with glee. "Oh, a baby! I'm so delighted. Wait until Mrs. Hudson finds out! She'll be so excited."

"Delilah. You cannot. Tell. Anyone. This is our little secret."

I nodded solemnly, seeing the warning look in Sherlock's eye. "Of course. It's their business. Oh, I do hope you tell them soon though! I can't wait until I see their faces."

Sherlock sighed again. "Weren't you going to go and look for your shoes?"

"Oh. Right. I'll go and find those and then I'll track you down." I began to rush off when I turned around. "Sherlock?"

"Yes Delilah?"

"You did amazing up there today. I'm very proud of you."

I saw a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. "And you did very well solving at least half of the mystery. We'll work on solving the whole one during our next case."

I walked away, grinning from ear to ear. Sherlock and I were going to be working together. Mary and John were expecting. I didn't know which I was more excited for. The adventures we were going to have together or the fact that Mary and John were going to have a little one in the near future.

I managed to find my shoes about thirty minutes later. One of the waiters who had been clearing the tables out of the way to make room for the dance floor had found them. I saw him walking up to guests with the shoes, asking them whose they were. Without a word, I took them from his hands, slipping them on my feet.

I found John standing by himself, looking around at all of the party-goers. I stepped beside him. "Wonderful day for a wedding, isn't it?"

He sighed. "So long as you don't have any murderers at your wedding, yes, it is."

"Your friend didn't die though. He'll be better in no time."

"Yes, but, can you imagine the guilt eating at him? When I was under his command, he cared about his troops deeply. I can understand why he would want to kill himself."

"I'm sure you can. As can I." I saw him glance up at me, suspicion in his eyes. "John, the funny thing about being suicidal is that we can see it in the others around us who contemplated it."

"You're sounding more and more like Sherlock every time we speak."

"Except, unlike Sherlock, I can empathize. I haven't lost that side of me quite yet, although I will say, since February that side of me has shrunk." I looked out over the crowd, my hand tightening on the strap of my purse. "I hope you know that I care for the three of you very deeply. Mrs. Hudson as well. And that I'm so happy to see you two married finally."

"You're not going to disappear again are you?" John sounded worried and I gave him a smile.

"No, John. I realized that I haven't had the chance to speak with you very much lately. I've been so wrapped up in my recovery and my training that I've forgotten the most important thing of all. Friendship." John smiled. "You, Mary, and Sherlock have become the closest thing I'll have to a family. Sure, I've got my mother to speak to now thanks to Sherlock, but I'll never be close to her. You three on the other hand, you searched all of London looking for me, took over a terrorist's warehouse. Hell, you even killed one of the men who was holding me captive." I looked down at the floor, feeling my face growing hot. "I never thanked you for that…for killing the man who was going to kill me. You saved my life."

"I would have done it for any of my friends. I did it for Sherlock before."

I shook my head. "I don't think you would have. And I think you did it more for Sherlock than for me. I'm not complaining though. I'm glad you pulled the trigger."

"I did it for you and him. You two…I don't know how to explain it. You both fight constantly, seemingly detest each other, and yet you bring out the best in him. I've never seen Sherlock as calm and kind as when he's around you. He seems to function like a normal human being almost, which is more than I could ever get him to do." We both chuckled. "You're good for one another. I hope that you two stay together."

"Do you really mean that John?"

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I want the best for my best friend and my wife's best friend?"

"I'm your…your wife's best friend?"

John nodded. "Yes, you are. She was so disappointed when you told her you weren't going to be in the wedding party. But she also understood that you weren't ready to do something quite so…sociable yet. But, enough of us chatting. Let's go and find Sherlock and my wife, shall we?"

We began to search through the reception area. John managed to get held up by a few of the guests and I slipped away, going to search for Sherlock. I found him in the foyer with Janine, waltzing together. I couldn't help but snicker softly at her dancing even as I watched from the doorway.

"Just...hold your nerve on your turning," Sherlock said as he released her.

"Why do we have to rehearse?" She questioned as she adjusted the top of her dress. I rolled my eyes.

Sherlock leaned in closer to her and I felt the jealousy rising up in my chest. I heard Sherlock say, "Because we are about to dance together in public and your skills are appalling." I watched as he turned to look at me. "Delilah! Would you care to demonstrate how you're supposed to dance?"

I stepped out from my place in the doorway, shutting the door behind me. "You'd like for me to-"

"Be an example to Janine, yes."

"Why? You're a good teacher as it is." I could tell that Janine was miffed even as I walked towards Sherlock. "And a brilliant dancer."

"I'll let you in on something Janine," Sherlock said even as he placed one hand on my waist, the other taking my hand. "I love dancing. I've always loved it."

We began a slow waltz, spinning around the room. I found myself lost in Sherlock's eyes as I stared up at him. He leaned down to my ear, murmuring, "Do you trust me?"

I felt my heart skip a beat, but I nodded my head. "Aye. I do."

He spun me once, twice, before dipping me backwards. As he pulled me back up, he spun me away, pirouetting behind me to catch me around the waist as I stopped spinning. I laughed breathlessly, turning to look at him, seeing the smile on his face.

"Ooh! Woah!" I heard Janine exclaim and I straightened up, brushing back the hair that had fallen into my face, realizing that my hair band had fallen off during my dip.

"Never really comes up in crime work," Sherlock admitted as I went to go and retrieve my accessory. "But, um, you know, I live in hope of the right case."

"I wish you weren't…whatever it is you are," I heard Janine sigh. That was all I could take from the woman.

"And I wish you weren't so blind," I snapped, turning on my heel to glare at the woman. "Sherlock is a fantastic human being and a good man. Sure, he's a bit eccentric and sometimes a bit impossible. But I'm happy to have him in my life. I'm also very happy that someone like _you_ can't see how amazing a person he actually is."

Both Sherlock and Janine looked taken aback by my temper and I realized that I had said too much. I left the room, brushing past John on my way out. I needed alcohol and lots of it. Before I could find alcohol though, I found Mary.

"Del, have you seen John?"

"He was with Sherlock and Janine in the foyer."

Mary's arm hooked through mine, turning me back in the direction of Janine. I wanted to pull away from her and escape, but instead I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to go back and look at that simpleton bridesmaid once more. I sighed and Mary looked up at me.

"What's the matter? I know that its been a bit hectic and I'm sorry. I really wasn't expecting it to be like this."

"No, no. It's fine. I...I let my jealousy get the better of me."

Mary chuckled. "You can't stand to see him with Janine, can you?"

"No, I can't."

Mary stopped just outside the doors leading to the foyer. "Del, when are you going to admit to yourself that you love him?"

"I...what?"

"It's so clear to all of us that you love Sherlock and that he loves you. But you two seem absolutely oblivious to all of it." Mary smiled knowingly at me. "I've seen the way you two look at each other. You already live together and can tolerate each other pretty well. And from what John has said, there has been more than one occasion where he has come over and you've both been in bed together."

"It helps my nightmares," I said defensively. "Sherlock was tired of hearing me crying out at night."

Mary shook her head. "That's not all it is. You two, whether you like to admit it or not, are good for each other. Tell him how you feel. Think of it as our wedding present."

I sighed. "I'll think on it. Now let's find your husband Mrs. Watson."

"Do you always carry handcuffs?" I heard Janine mutter to Sherlock and I felt my temper flaring up again.

"Down girl. In case you couldn't tell earlier, there is someone else."

My heart swelled with happiness even as I watched Mary go to John. I looked between the man that was handcuffed and Sherlock. "So, this is the Mayfly Man?"

"Yes. You missed my entire explanation, didn't you?" Sherlock asked, looking over his shoulder at me.

"It's not me you should be arresting Mr. Holmes." I recognized the man as the photographer for the wedding.

"Oh, I don't do the arresting. I just farm that out," Sherlock retorted, nodding towards Greg.

"Sholto, he's the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker." I shuddered at the man's maniacal grin, watching as it fell slowly from his face and he shook his head. "I shouldn't have tried to be clever."

I heard Sherlock say softly, "You should have driven faster."

I gave him a curious glance even as I gently took his hand. He looked down at me, forcing a smile. I ran my thumb along his inner palm, doing my best to sooth him. I could tell that something was bothering him, but I knew that it was going to be something he'd have to talk to me about later. Mary and John were heading into the reception and I knew that Sherlock would have to go as well.

"We'll be dancing later, correct?"

Sherlock gave me only a curt nod even as he followed Mary and John. I stood there, watching as they entered the room. My phone began to go off and I looked down, recognizing the number almost immediately. I stepped outside, knowing that I was going to miss the first dance.

"Mycroft, what do you want?"

"I wished to see what your availability looked like this Friday. I'd like it if you could meet me at The Wolseley around 2:30 that afternoon."

"Why?"

"I can't take my brother's girlfriend out for an afternoon?"

"I'm not his girlfriend," I said through gritted teeth. "God, why must everyone insist that we are together?"

"Well, according to my sources, you two have slept together. And he always seems to be distracted whenever you're mentioned. Plus, you both have been sighted in public no less than twenty-seven times in the past two months."

"Have you forgotten that we live together and need groceries?"

"I'm sorry, I completely forgot that you get groceries at a fish and chip shop. My apologies. How silly of me."

"So what, you've been spying on us?"

"Merely keeping tabs on my little brother and who he decides to let into his life. Now, are you available Friday? Your schedule at the clinic says yes, but I wanted to check and make sure that you hadn't made any plans at that school of yours you teach at." I could practically hear him smiling through the phone. "I was thinking, maybe I should get some lessons with you. I've heard that taekwondo is very good for the health."

"Fine. Friday, two-thirty at The Wolseley."

"Wonderful! I will book our table. Now, go and enjoy the rest of the wedding. Please send Mary and John my regards as I'm certain that Sherlock neglected to."

I ended the phone call, looking up at the night sky. What on earth could Sherlock's brother possibly want with me? I'd answered every question he'd come up with, told my story a thousand times. What more could he want?

When I entered the reception again, Sherlock was still playing his violin and Mary and John were still dancing. I smiled, the phone call with Mycroft slowly fading into a distant memory. I was here at the wedding of two of my closest friends, something that I didn't think that I would live to see. And they were a beautiful couple. John looked so happy and I could tell that Mary was so in love with him. I caught Sherlock's eye as he stopped playing.

Sherlock raised the flower to me, but I knew he was going to throw it to Janine, as that was what was expected of him. The woman caught it and Mary and John straightened themselves up, laughing and kissing one another. Sherlock stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just, er, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with." Sherlock paused and I pushed my way to the front of the crowd, standing at the edge of the dance floor where he could see me. "More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John, whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you." I covered my mouth, realizing that he had nearly let slip that they were expecting in front of the entire crowd. "Er, I'm sorry, I mean, I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact. I've just miscounted."

I saw the couple look at each other, worry on their faces. I watched as Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to compose himself once more. "Anyway, it's time for dancing. Play the music again, please, thank you." Sherlock turned to look at the crowd. "Okay, everybody, just dance. Don't be shy! Dancing, please!"

I took the opportunity to get out onto the floor as Sherlock began crossing to Mary and John. I appeared at Mary's side, squeezing her arm gently even as Sherlock appeared in front of us.

"Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was really expecting."

"Deduction?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock looked down at her, a glitter in his eye that I had only seen when he was working on cases. "Starving. Change of taste perception. And you were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding nerves. You got angry with me when I mentioned it to you. All the signs are there."

"The signs?" Mary looked to me questioningly. "What signs is he talking about?"

"The signs of three," Sherlock stated, gaze dropping to Mary's abdomen.

"What?!"

"Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test."

John sighed, dropping his head, nearly doubling over. I worried that the man was going to faint. Mary grinned at Sherlock, beaming from ear to ear.

"W...th-the statistics for the first trimester are-"

"Shut up," John said, straightening up and I looked at Sherlock, who had frozen mid-word. "Just...shut up."

"Sorry," Sherlock apologized and I went to stand next to him, taking his hand.

John turned to Mary. "How did he notice before me? I'm a bloody doctor."

"It's your day off," Sherlock muttered

"It's your day off!" John retorted.

"Everybody take it easy," I said, trying to calm the situation down. "Besides, I don't think Sherlock knows how to take a day off."

"Stop...stop panicking."

"I'm not panicking."

"I'm pregnant...I'm panicking."

"The three of you stop it!" I snapped. "You're all making this much worse than it has to be. There is no need to panic."

"Yes. Right. Absolutely no reason to panic." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, his grip on my hand tightening slightly.

"Oh, and you two would know of course?"

"Yes, we would," Sherlock replied. "You're already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you've had!"

I gave Sherlock a puzzled glance, tilting my head to the side. I had no idea what he was talking about at this point.

"What practice?" John asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, you're hardly going to need me around now that you've got a real baby on the way."

I began to laugh. Sherlock was right. I watched as John began to laugh with me, clasping Sherlock on the back of the neck before putting his hand on Mary's shoulder. I could see the happy tears in Mary's eyes and she held her hand out to me. I took it and she gave it a tight squeeze, pulling me in for a hug. I returned the embrace, laughing and smilng.

"You alright?" John asked as I let Mary go.

"Yeah," Mary replied breathlessly, still not letting go of my hand. "I'm fine. I'm just-"

"I'll go and get you some water," I murmured, letting go of her hand. "I'm so happy for you both. You'll have to let me know what the test says when you take it."

I walked off, going to find a glass of water for the bride and mother-to-be. I wanted to give Sherlock a few minutes with his friends alone. I knew that he and John probably needed to have a moment together and I didn't want to intrude. I finally tracked down one of the waitstaff and asked him if he could fetch a glass of water for the bride. As I did, I noted Sherlock leaving the room out of the corner of my eye.

I pushed through the crowd, entering the foyer in time to see Sherlock exiting out into the garden. I slipped out of my shoes, carrying them as I walked out of the door. I could see him retreating into the garden, the collar of his jacket popped up as high as it could go.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wait!"

He stopped, standing still as I ran up to him. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the flat."

"Without me?"

"Yes. You are more than capable of hailing a cab for yourself."

"Sherlock," I reached out for his hand, but he jerked away. "Sherlock, what in the world is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me. Something's the matter. I can see it."

"Why do you care? Honestly woman, you're more irritating than a gnat sometimes."

"And you're more stubborn than a bull, but I'm doing my best to not make rude comparisons here. Something is bothering you Sherlock and its been bothering you since we got ready this morning. Now, talk to me."

He sighed, shaking his head. "You wouldn't understand."

"I wouldn't understand? Really Sherlock? Me?" I reached out to take his hand again and this time he didn't pull away. "There was, once upon a time, a moment where you trusted me. Do you not anymore?"

"I do."

"Then show me. Let me in."

Sherlock frowned. "Could we at least do this at the flat?"

"Fine."

We managed to hail a cab and the ride back to 221b was long and quiet. I kept holding his hand though, not wanting to let go, knowing that if I did, he probably wouldn't take it back. We arrived back to the flat on Baker Street close to midnight. I was exhausted, but I refused to let myself go to sleep until we'd spoken.

Sherlock let us in, holding the door open for me. I took the stairs two at a time, waiting patiently outside the door. "One day you'll eventually have a key made for me."

"Why? We- I'm almost always home and if I'm not then Mrs. Hudson will let you in."

"Sherlock, I live here now, remember?"

"Funny, I don't recall you paying the rent."

"Would you like for me to?" I asked, raising my eyebrow at him. "What are you doing? Why are you pushing me away?"

"Because I wish to be alone. I wish to be by myself without you or anyone else in my hair. Why is that so difficult for you to comprehend?"

"W-what? But...Sherlock, I…"

"What?"

"I told Mary that I would do something tonight, as my wedding present to her and John. But now I don't even think I should do it anymore since you're making it so clear that you want nothing to do with me."

I began to walk down the hall to my room when he grabbed my arm. "What is it Delilah?"

"Why don't you figure it out? Use that brain of yours to deduce what I want to say. You can do it all the time with everyone else."

Sherlock frowned. "Because...because I can't do it with you."

"What?"

In the unlit gloom of the flat, I could tell that he was struggling to find the words. "I _can't_ deduce things with you. It's frustrating to me. With Janine, I could figure everything out about her with a simple glance. I could read Watson like a book, I could figure out Mary and Mrs. Hudson's thoughts with a single movement and facial expression. But you...you're impossible to predict. You go off on whims, you're smarter than you let on, and you can change your mind at a moment's notice. I've lived with you for almost six months and I still can't figure it out." He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple. "You aggravate me."

I went to John's chair, sitting down and staring at him. "Is that what has been bothering you?"

"No. Yes. Well, it's one of the things that bothers me. You won't let go of that, will you?" I shook my head. "Fine. I feel as if I am losing everything that has made me feel like a somewhat normal functioning human being. Mary and John are having a baby, which means that they'll be much too busy to spend time with me. And everyone in the past few weeks has made a point of telling me how much it was going to change things. I don't know why they did it either, which also bothers me."

"Because they care about you and they know how close you and John are," I said simply, crossing my legs. "They know that you and John are the greatest of friends, that you're more like brothers than anything else, and that he has done so much for you these past few years. He opened you up, Sherlock, made you realize that there are good and beautiful things in this world. And you're afraid that with him gone, focused on Mary and the baby, that you'll lose that side of you."

"I'm a machine."

"You're a human. Just like me. You bleed the same, you feel the same. The only difference is that you are very good at pretending that you don't feel anything, whereas I feel too much." Sherlock continued to stand, staring at me. "I know, by your lack of response, that I'm not wrong. Either that or you're so tired that-"

Before I could finish my sentence, Sherlock was next to me, kissing me roughly. I gripped the arms of the chair, struggling against the urge to get away from him. I told myself repeatedly that it was Sherlock, that I was safe. He stopped for a moment, resting his forehead against mine. I did my best to keep my breathing calm even as we sat in the silence of the flat.

"I should call the police."

"For what?" I asked, slightly alarmed. "Is there someone here?"

"Because you are a thief."

I recoiled from him, nose wrinkling with disdain. "I thought we were past that."

"We are. You are the thief that stole my heart that I didn't even know I had." He brushed my cheek with his knuckle. "I don't understand you or this. But I know that having you by my side is not something that I want to be without. You...you're different and I want to learn from you."

I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before I pulled away, staring at him in the dark room. "Sherlock. I should have told you sooner. But...I love you."

He chuckled. "I've known that for about a month now. That I can actually deduce."

"So...what do we do now?"

"What do normal couples do when they declare their affections for one another?" Sherlock gave me a small smile. "If you'd still have me, that is."

"I...yes, Sherlock. But, if I become frightened, we have to stop."

"Of course. I would never hurt you." He slid his arms under me, lifting me from the chair and carrying me down the hall.

I rested my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was soothing, had been since we'd started sharing the same bed. It had eased the nightmares, as had being wrapped in his arms. We got to his bedroom and he laid me down gently, kissing me tenderly. I could tell that he was doing his best to restrain himself. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me even as he rested one hand against my hip, hiking my dress up around my waist. I let out a low moan as he pressed a kiss to my neck, gently sucking on the sensitive skin.

I pulled at his jacket, tossing it to the floor. I began to unbutton the front of his dress shirt even as he unzipped my dress, pulling it down to expose my breasts. He raised an eyebrow at me. "No bra?"

"Didn't seem necessary. The dress has a built-in one and it's not like I have massive breasts to begin with." I finished unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the floor to join the other articles of clothing. "Are you really going to question my clothing choices right now?"

To answer my question, he bent down, suckling my breast, looking up at me occasionally to make sure that I wasn't uncomfortable. I was far from it. In fact, I was enjoying myself with Sherlock, something that I hadn't thought possible since the incident in February. I let my nails run down his back, feeling him jerk against me. My fingers gently pressed into the tense muscles of his shoulders and I felt him instantly relax, body sagging against mine.

"What are you trying to do, put me to sleep?" He questioned, going to kiss me. "Because if you keep doing that, I can guarantee you that that's what you'll do."

I chuckled, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "You'll be fine. I'm learning you, Sherlock."

He pulled the dress down, tossing it to the floor. He leaned back, staring down at my body. I felt myself cringe inwardly as he inspected all of the new scars and marks. His fingers traced the scar on my abdomen, brushing over the matching burn scars on either side of my ribcage. I began to shake, squirming under his gaze. His eyes focused on mine. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"A bit…"

"Sorry. I...didn't realize how many...I didn't know…"

"It's fine. I didn't want you or anyone else to see." I was sliding myself under the blankets, trying to hide my body from him. "This was a stupid idea. I should have known-"

"Easy Lila. I asked you once already tonight if you trust me. Do you?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath. "I do."

"Then I am going to come under the covers with you and I'm going to make love to you if you'll let me."

I felt the panic rising up in my chest, but I pushed it down, telling myself that I was safe, that I was going to be alright. Sherlock climbed under the covers with me, his hand brushing against my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine. He disappeared under the covers and I felt him tugging at my underwear, pulling it down around my ankles before tossing it somewhere. He slowly spread my legs, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I gasped as I felt his tongue slowly lick my clit.

I let my head fall back against the pillow, closing my eyes, focusing on the new sensations. My fingers fisted in his hair as I felt two of his fingers slide into me. I was growing hotter and hotter, feeling as if I was going to fly apart at the seams. He continued to lick and suck my clit, his mouth matching the rhythm that his fingers were setting.

"Sherlock...oh God, Sherlock...please. Please don't stop."

His pace increased and suddenly I was soaring, my body arching, my fingers flying from his scalp to his back, nails digging into the soft flesh. As I relaxed, chest heaving for air, I found Sherlock next to me, a triumphant smile on his face.

"You enjoyed it." I nodded. "You really enjoyed it."

"Yes, Sherlock, I enjoyed it. Are you trying to ruin the moment?"

He shook his head, leaning down to kiss me. I could still taste my juices on his lips. I stroked the side of his neck, feeling him shudder against me. I unbuttoned his pants quickly, tugging that and his underwear down, pushing them off him with my feet and then kicking them out of the bed. He gave me a smile even as I positioned myself underneath of him, arms wrapped around his neck even as I hooked one leg around his waist. I could feel him holding himself back.

"Sherlock. Take me."

"Are you sure Lila?"

I nodded slowly, feeling as if I had a good grip on my emotions at that moment. When he hesitated, I quickly flipped him onto his back, sitting astride him. I sunk down onto him, hearing him groan even as I stopped, letting him stay deep inside. I closed my eyes, trying to block out every thought, only focusing on the moment and the sensations. Sherlock's hands were on my breasts, cupping them gently even as I set the pace. I could hear his breath growing ragged and I leaned down, still setting the rhythm, focusing on the feeling of having him inside me. I pressed a kiss to his neck and his hands gripped my hips.

"Delilah...Delilah...Lila!"

I watched as his eyes fluttered closed and he thrust himself deep in me, hands tightening their grip. I felt him cum inside and I smiled, pressing gentle kisses against his face and lips even as he struggled to catch his breath. I didn't move for a couple of minutes, trying to catch my own breath and his eyes fluttered open, staring at me directly.

"We didn't use protection."

I gave him an exasperated look. "The first time I have sex with you since...well you know, and the one thing that you can think of is that we didn't use protection? Really Sherlock?"

"Well, I would rather not have a baby at this point in my life."

I got off of him, grabbing my dress off of the floor, using it to cover myself. "Sherlock, do you really think I would be so careless? I've been on the pill since March. I'm fine. And if you're worried about diseases, I had every blood test known to man run at the hospital for STI's. Honestly, you need to sort out your priorities."

I exited the room, going to the bathroom to draw a warm bath for myself. While I had enjoyed it in the moment, I now felt unclean. Even though it had been with Sherlock and I had wanted it, I still couldn't help but picture a certain warehouse with half a dozen men all waiting in a circle for their turn. I shuddered, glancing up at myself in the mirror. I recognized that haunted look, one that I had been trying to avoid confronting for months.

"You're fine. You're safe. This was your choice. You wanted this to happen. It was safe, consensual, and enjoyable. You are safe and you are loved. He is not them. He will never be them." I began to say to myself in the mirror over and over again as the water filled the tub.

"Delilah."

I turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, a frown on his face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm...fine. I was-"

"Reassuring yourself. I know. I read it in your journal that your therapist had suggested you come up with a mantra of sorts." Sherlock crossed behind me, turning the water off to the tub. "Were you going to take a bath?"

"No. Figured I would fill the tub so that I could practice my scuba diving skills." I snapped, immediately regretting what I'd said. I tried to soften my tone. "Yes, I'm taking a bath. Thank you for turning the water off for me."

He nodded, looking over his shoulder at me. I blushed as I realized that he and I were both still naked. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"We won't both fit in the tub."

"Yes we will. It's a large tub. If you're uncomfortable with it, I understand."

I sighed. "If you'd like to we can. Just...promise me if I get uncomfortable, you'll get out."

"Of course."

I nodded, setting my dress on the toilet before I climbed into the tub. "Well, come in then."

He settled in behind me, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Thank you."

I turned to look at him, unable to hide the surprise on my face. "What did you say?"

"I said thank you."

"W-what are you thanking me for?"

"For trusting me enough to be intimate with you. And for letting me share the bath with you."

I smiled, leaning back against him. "Well...you're welcome."

We sat in silence for a bit, Sherlock running his damp fingers through my hair. He poured a bit of water over my head and I shivered, remembering the hose and how they'd tried to drown me on my first day with them. Sherlock leaned down, whispering in my ear, "You are here in the bath with me in the flat, not there. It is bath water and you are safe."

I relaxed once more, soothed by the sound of his voice. He poured another handful of water over my head and I kept myself relaxed. A few more times and then he was scrubbing shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp. I could feel myself drifting off. Between the warm bath, Sherlock's fingers, and the contentment I felt after having sex, I was the most relaxed I'd been since the day we'd gotten drunk together. He washed the shampoo out of my hair before putting the conditioner in, combing it through my hair with his fingers.

"You know, I think I like your hair short."

"Mmm?"

"Your hair short. It brings out your features a lot more. You should keep it that way."

"I didn't think you would like a woman with short hair."

"And normally I don't," he replied, beginning to wash the conditioner out. "But on you, I do."

I smiled, turning to press a light kiss to his lips. "You are so sweet to me. I don't understand it."

"Neither do I."

"Perhaps there are some mysteries that are best left unsolved," I murmured, feeling the water dribble down from my head to my neck and back into the bath.

As he finished rinsing the conditioner from my head, I felt his fingers begin brushing against my back. I winced, knowing that he was touching the scars there. A couple of them were still tender, but I did my best to not pull away, allowing him his inspection. He pressed a kiss to my shoulder before resting his chin there.

"I am sorry I didn't make it to you sooner."

"I know you tried your best."

"I could have been faster. I could have thought of looking through local warehouses sooner or I could have tried harder at breaking through their code and tracking the signal."

"There are so many could have's and what if's in this world Sherlock. Do we really need to add more? The damage was done. To both of us." Sherlock kept quiet and I turned to him in the tub, which was no easy feat. "Sherlock, I've heard you talking in your sleep about that night. And you're always apologizing. There was even a night when I heard you cry out my name."

"Did not."

"Think what you will, but I know what I heard. It took me this long to realize it, but my being tortured affected you too. It's why you're always following me when you can, why you installed multiple tracking devices and apps into my phone." He kept his expression neutral and I smiled. "Sherlock, I know you did, so don't lie. I'm a bit more tech savvy than you all give me credit for."

Sherlock sighed. "So what? I wished to make certain that you were safe."

"And I appreciate that. But you can't continue to coddle me constantly, especially if we're going to be going on cases together and living together. I want this to work. But if you suffocate me then all I'm going to want to do is escape. Can we at least agree that you won't snoop through my things anymore and you'll stop following me?"

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. But you have to text me every hour at least once."

"Unless I'm in class."

"You and your stipulations. Fine, unless you're in class."

I smiled. "Glad that we could settle this. Now, I'm going to get out and dry off. I'll see you in bed?"

He nodded. "I'm going to wash myself and then I'll join you. Oh. Delilah. There's something that I've been meaning to give you. It's sitting on the dresser."

Curious, I got out of the bath, wrapping a towel around my body. I stepped into Sherlock's bedroom, going directly to the dresser. I saw a velvet box sitting on the dresser and I felt my heart begin to race. What was this? With trembling fingers, I lifted the box up to eye level, opening it slowly. The tears were nearly instant as I recognized the ring in the box.

Arms wrapped around my waist and I recognized the naked body pressed against mine. "H-how did you- where did you-?"

"It was in evidence. I convinced Lestrade to release it to me. I wanted to be the one to give it to you. It was your father's, correct?"

"Yes. The most important thing I have left of him." I lifted it out of the box, hands shaking. As I tried to fasten it, Sherlock's hands covered mine, gently pushing them away.

"I…I wanted you to be happy…and I didn't know how to do it."

I turned to him as he finished fastening it. The tears streamed down my face, but I smiled up at him. "This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me. I love you Sherlock Holmes. Thank you."

I took his hand, leading him back to the bed, making love to him once more before bed. As we finished and lay in each other's arms, I smiled.

' _I am safe. I am loved. I am_ home.'

" _You're a fool, you know that?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _Coming here. Did you really think that I would let you survive our meeting?" She smirked and I felt uneasy, looking around the empty playground. "Did you really think that I would let you waltz in to my operation and try to destroy everything? I'm not stupid Del. I know all of your tricks. But let me fill you in on what's going to happen before I kill you."_

 _I drew my weapon, pointing it at her. "You mean before I kill_ you _. I don't care if I die, so long as I take you with me."_

 _Ten red dots appeared on my chest simultaneously, but I still held my ground, keeping my gun trained on her even as she sat on the swings, a twisted smile on her face. "Oh, so predictable. Will you put the gun down so we can at least discuss things under less hostile circumstances?"_

 _I bit my bottom lip but lowered my gun. "Fine. Since you're going to kill me anyway, I may as well hear what you have to say."_

" _Good!" She kicked her legs back in forth with her glee. "Because I can promise you, things are going to get much more interesting here in London town. We'll start with burning you. And then my boyfriend has something very special in store for yours."_

" _You have a boyfriend? Who would be sick and twisted enough to date you?"_

" _Oh, I'm sure you know his name. Sherlock definitely does. And he has missed your darling consulting detective something terrible. Talks about him all the time in fact. Sometimes I can't even get him to shut up about it for half the day as he reads Sherlock's friend's blog. What's his name? Jack? Jordan?"_

" _It's John. Would you get to the point already Livvy?"_

 _Her eyes glittered with glee as she got up from the swings, approaching me. "Oooh, someone's a bit impatient aren't they? Are you sure that you want to know?"_

 _I felt myself grow uneasy at her tone, but I nodded._

 _She leaned down to my ear before whispering the name._

 _"James Moriarty."_


	13. Chapter 13: Meetings and Plans

***Hello lovelies! I have a secret for you all. I've been writing at work (oops!) instead of working. No worries though, I'm all caught up and decided to take a breather from staring at horrible handwriting all day. I hope you all enjoy this. I wanted to make it a happy(ish) chapter because the next episode of the show is downright upsetting and I'm dreading writing it. I wanted to say thank you all so so much for reading it. It makes me extraordinarily happy to see that people are enjoying what I'm writing. I hope all of you have a wonderful day and thank you so much again.***

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Meetings and Plans**

I looked out the window, my book on nursing untouched on the table. I'd wanted to study since I started working at the clinic. I'd even been looking into classes to take. Sherlock had been right when he'd said that I needed to be doing something instead of only sitting behind a desk taking phone calls. Sherlock was in the kitchen, working on some sort of experiment. I had been dreading this day the entire week. My leg bounced up and down as I sat in the chair and he sighed.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are you doing? Why are you bouncing your leg?"

"Oh. Sorry." I forced myself to stop, still looking out the window. I began to drum out a rhythm on the arm of the chair. Sherlock sighed again.

"Didn't you have an appointment of some kind at 2:30?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's 1:50 now. Don't want to be late, do you?"

I got to my feet, frowning at Sherlock. "I'm sorry, am I irritating you?"

"A bit, yes. I'm trying to focus on my work."

I ran a hand through my hair, making it stand on end. Sherlock looked up at me, frowning. "You look a mess."

"Thanks. You're too kind."

"Come here."

I approached him and he ran his fingers through my hair, combing through it quickly. I stood there patiently, waiting for him to finish. He stepped back and seemed somewhat satisfied, giving a quick nod. "Now you look presentable. Go to your appointment. I should be here when you get back."

I was nearly out the door when I heard Sherlock say something else. I poked my head back in. "What was that?"

"I said do you have your keys and your gun?"

I held my keys up in my hand and pulled back the jacket, revealing my pistol in its holster. "Do I ever leave the house without them?"

Sherlock smiled. "Good. We're still going to the pool tonight, right?"

"Yes. You need to learn how to swim. It's a useful skill to have in your repertoire, seeing as I may not be there the next time you end up in the water."

"Alright. I will see you back at the flat at six then."

I gave him a smile. "See you then."

I left the flat, heading out the door and onto the sidewalk. I hailed a cab, getting into the back quickly.

"Where ya headin' miss?"

"The Woseley. Get me there before two-twenty and there'll be a good tip in it for you."

The cab driver nodded, weaving through the streets. I sighed, resting my head against the glass. I'd had to lie to Sherlock all week, no easy task, especially when he pestered me day and night about what was bothering me.

That wasn't the only thing that was bothering me. There was a dream that was trapped in my mind, one that I could only catch glimpses of throughout the day. I knew it had to do with that stupid playground and that night in February, but I couldn't remember it. It was always out of my reach, only appearing when I was asleep. I sighed, looking out at the dreary sky. Mycroft had picked a heck of a day to have this meeting. I still hadn't been able to figure out what for either.

I arrived at The Woseley at quarter past and I gave the driver a forty percent tip. He thanked me profusely before driving off, leaving me to stand outside the building, staring at the establishment.

"Well, he definitely knows how to pick his restaurants, I'll give him that much," I muttered under my breath, entering quickly. I stepped up to the maître de. "I'm here to meet-"

"Right this way Ms. McKinley. Mr. Holmes has been expecting you."

I followed the gentleman, mildly irritated that Mycroft was already waiting for me. I noted that he'd managed to book the private room. It made me even more irritated with the man. How in the world was he able to pull so many strings? I stood at the head of the table, watching Mycroft as he read the paper.

"Ah, Delilah. You've finally arrived," he said, never bothering to look up. "Sit down dear. We're having a bit of an early tea today. I've already made arrangements for it."

"You knew I'd come early?"

"Of course! You're early to everything you attend, unless an absolute emergency comes up. A habit your father instilled in you I believe?" He put the paper down, offering me a smile. "Sit. Please. We've much to discuss."

I slowly sat down in the chair that had been pulled out for me. "What do you want Mycroft?"

He gave me a smile. "Already down to business. I like that. Another habit that you picked up from your father, correct? Straight to the point, don't beat around the bush."

I forced myself to take a deep breath, doing my best to keep calm. "You have questions as to why I'm with Sherlock."

The smile fell from his face. "A bit brighter than you let on, aren't you? A shame that you let emotions get in the way of everything. You could be my assistant if you weren't so soft."

"I'm already helping someone else. If this is about a job offer, I'm not interested."

"This is about your intentions towards my little brother."

The silence in the room was deafening as the waiter brought in the tea. Mycroft and I stared at each other, our gazes never wavering even as we were served. When the waiter left, Mycroft smiled, sitting back in his seat. "You know, unlike my brother, I can see right through you."

"Can you now?" I asked, taking a sip of my tea. "Please, tell me exactly what it is you see. Because I can guarantee you, like your brother before, you'll get it wrong."

"No no. I'll save my observations for a later date. Right now, I want to ask you one simple question. What are your intentions towards my little brother?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Since when do you care about anything except your reputation?"

"Since my brother nearly died in your company."

I flinched at his words. "Yes, well, he didn't, so we've nothing to discuss."

"Quite the contrary. We have _everything_ to discuss because of that. You do realize that by being around my brother with your sister still free, that that puts him in danger correct? And by doing that, you have made it my business to get involved. I am here to give you two choices." Mycroft took a sip of his tea. "One, you move back to Ireland, stay with your aunt and uncle, and don't contact my brother. Or two, you move back to Ireland on your own and _don't contact my brother_." He took another sip. "Whichever you choose, all expenses will be paid and all debts with the hospital will be declared paid in full. I believe that the government would even be willing to pay you a small sum of money each month for all of the trouble that you went to, as well as help you find another job as a paralegal and assume a new identity."

"And if I don't choose either one of those?" I asked softly, trying to hide my trembling hands.

"Well then, consider yourself in debt up to your eyeballs with creditors hounding you day and night. Also, you'll find it very hard to find a job outside of that little office that you're working at." He gave me a small smile. "The ball is in your court Delilah. I will tell you, I don't think you're good enough for him. He deserves much better than you at the very least. Dating a thief, I mean honestly, what was he thinking? You're lucky that your sister kept the evidence that she had on you or else those two options wouldn't be on the table and you would be locked away in a cell."

I fought to control the rage building inside my chest. "I'm not leaving him. Take your money and shove it up your ass."

Mycroft smiled. "How did I know that you were going to say that? Let me guess, you love him."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What of it? Do you have questions about it since you've obviously never been in love before? I'd be more than happy to answer them if it means you'll leave us alone."

He chuckled, pulling a book from his pocket, flipping through the pages. "That's quite funny. It almost wounded me. Almost being the key word." He leaned forward in his seat, dropping his voice. "Let me tell you something Delilah dear. You are playing a very dangerous game and are in way over your head. I'll give you until midnight tonight to reconsider my offer." His smile was almost wolfish. "There are worse things that could happen to you besides your time in the warehouse. Keep that in mind."

I felt as though I couldn't breath. My head was spinning. I got to my feet quickly, shaking violently. Mycroft only looked up at me, still smiling. "What's the matter dear? Going so soon?"

I left the room, pushing past the waitstaff and customers. I didn't bother apologizing. I didn't care. I could feel my breath coming in shallow gasps, my heart racing in my chest. I made it out onto the street, heading in the direction of Baker Street. I fumbled for the phone in my pocket, scrolling through my short list of contacts before hitting the call button.

It rang once, twice. "God woman, what on earth could you want-"

"Sherlock?"

His tone changed immediately. "What's the matter? Why are you out of breath?"

"I'm...I'm fine…" I fought back tears even as I walked down the street.

"You're not. What's wrong? What happened? Where are you?"

"Walking home. I'm fine...we...we need to talk when I get home, okay?"

"Delilah, what is going on? Is it your mother? Your sister?"

"No, neither. I'll be...home in about twenty minutes. Could you make me a cup of coffee?"

"Is your asthma bothering you? What happened to the inhaler I gave you?"

"I ran out. John's going to write me a prescription when he gets back."

"Can you wait that long?" I could tell he was concerned and that made the pain in my heart so much worse.

"I can. I'll be home soon and then we'll talk."

I hung up the phone before he could reply, walking down the street, the tears still flowing. What was I to give up? My life or my heart?

* * *

I found Sherlock pacing the living room when I returned. I stood in the doorway, watching as he stopped to look up at me. "Coffee's on the table. You're not cyanotic, which is a good sign. What did you need to talk about?"

"My meeting I had. Sherlock, I…" I felt the tears begin to flow once more. "I'm leaving. Tomorrow. I can't stay here anymore. I'm going back to Ireland. There's too much that has happened in the past few months and I can't take it anymore."

He froze, staring at me, searching my face. "You met my brother, didn't you?"

"What? No!"

"Don't lie to me. I'd recognize that smell on your clothes anywhere. You went to The Woseley for an early tea and he told you to leave me alone. Gave you options didn't he? Told you to leave or else he'd make your life hell?" Sherlock began pacing once more and I could tell that he was angry. "So, that's why you're fleeing. I thought you were braver than that. He's all bark and no bite, that's what you need to realize and he's overprotective."

"I wasn't fleeing!" I protested.

"You told me not two seconds ago that you were leaving to go back to Ireland. I don't know what dictionary you've read or looked at, but that is the definition of _fleeing._ " Sherlock stopped to look at me and I watched as he frowned. "What? Why are you crying?"

"B-because...I'm not good enough for you Sherlock. You deserve better than me."

"So Mycroft says. But what he says doesn't matter. It's what I say that does. And I say that if I did not want you or thought you too flawed to be with me, then I would have kicked you out a long time ago." Sherlock approached me, wiping the tears away from my eyes. "Stop your crying. You're not one of those that's pretty when they cry. You're much prettier when you smile."

I looked up at him in shock before I let out a small laugh. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"So I've been told. Now, what did my brother tell you?"

I told Sherlock the entire story as I drank my coffee, Sherlock listening to every word.

"I have a plan."

* * *

" _Sherlock. What a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting to speak with you for another six months."_

"Mycroft. You and I need to have a discussion." Sherlock glanced up at me as I stared at the phone sitting on the kitchen table.

" _Oh dear. Is it about this Delilah girl that you've been fawning over? She has left, hasn't she?"_

"Yes, she has. And I don't understand why you felt it necessary to send her away."

" _Because dear brother, there are certain things that you do not need to involve yourself with. Thieves are one of them. Love is another."_

I sneered at the phone, but bit my tongue, taking Sherlock's hand instead. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "I want to meet you. Tonight. London Aquatic Centre. Midnight."

" _I have something I need to do at midnight."_

"Eleven-thirty then. And don't say that the place is closed. I know that you can get us in there without being seen." There was a pause. "We need to talk and you know it."

" _Fine, I will see you at eleven-thirty. Don't be late."_

Sherlock hung up the phone without replying, looking up at me. "How long do you think that I can hold my breath for?"

"Hopefully long enough," I replied before looking out the window.

Eleven-thirty couldn't get there quick enough.

* * *

I sat at the top of the high dive, trying to ignore my racing heart. I could see Sherlock from the edge, waiting for his brother. I glanced down at my watch. 11:28. Mycroft should be there any minute. I quickly laid down on the board when I heard the door open.

"Brother! You're actually on time for once. Are you ill?"

"Not at all. I wished to get this over with as soon as possible. Why did you send her away?"

Mycroft sighed and I could see even from that distance that he was irritated. "Because she's not good for you Sherlock. She was poisoning your mind with all of her romantic nonsense. You're barely focused on anything other than her."

"I don't have a case at the moment, so what does it matter?"

"Because when you _do_ have a case, you're still going to be distracted. I merely got her out of the way for you, saved you a bit of heartbreak." He examined his fingernails. "Is that all you wished to discuss?"

"Let her come back and stay with me. Whatever threats you made, unmake them. She is important to me."

"How so? Because she has tits and will spread her legs for you? Did you forget that she spread her legs for eight other gentlemen?"

Sherlock moved quickly, grabbing Mycroft by the front of his shirt, throwing him against the wall. "She was raped and tortured. She didn't ask for it."

Mycroft chuckled, wiping the blood at the corner of his mouth. "Attacking your own brother over a woman? This is so unlike you. You really _care_ about her, don't you? Or are you infatuated with her because she saved your life?"

Sherlock swung and Mycroft caught his arm. I could see the rage radiating off of the two men even from that distance. Sherlock's eyes were blazing whereas Mycroft's were cold.

"You will not strike me again Sherlock. Enough of your childish games. You've gotten your time to play house. Now it's over."

"I love her."

Mycroft laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. "No, you don't. You can't love anyone. It's not in your vocabulary."

"It is since I met her. Now bring her back."

"No."

Sherlock tried swinging with his free arm and Mycroft caught it. I knew that Sherlock had pushed him to the breaking point. It's what we'd discussed at the kitchen table after Sherlock had gotten me to calm down. We'd also discussed what would happen next.

' _I will make him angry with me. So angry that he loses his temper. It may take a bit. But when he does, in that space, where is he going to push me to? The pool. And what can't my brother or I do?'_

"Swim," I murmured, watching as Mycroft did as Sherlock had predicted, shoving him into the deep section of the pool. "I hope you can hold your breath Sherlock."

"Oh God," I heard Mycroft say even as he realized what he'd done. "Oh God. Sherlock? Sherlock! Someone! Anyone! HELP!"

I got to my feet, taking a few steps backwards before making a running leap towards the edge. My heart raced even as I jumped. The world seemed to slow down even as the water loomed ever closer. I hit hard, plunging deep into the water. Sherlock was struggling to keep himself from the bottom of the pool and I swam towards him.

' _When I grab you, I need you to help me. I can't lift you up to the surface again. Carrying that much dead weight is difficult. So I need for you to keep calm and kick hard,' I said to him at the table._

I wrapped one arm around his waist, wrapping his left around my neck. I kicked hard, heading for the surface. When our heads broke, we both took huge gasps for air. I helped him swim to the edge, Mycroft grabbing him by the back of his shirt, hoisting him out of the water. I lifted myself out, going to stand in front of Mycroft, who stared at me, dumbfounded.

"We all make mistakes Mycroft, even with the ones we love," I said softly, my gaze never wavering. "I will not leave him. I love him. That being said," I struck him, open palm, across the face. "If you _ever_ say anything about my rape again and make light of it or use it against Sherlock or I, I will do more than slap you."

His eyes narrowed even as he rubbed at his cheek. Finally, he sighed, watching as Sherlock went to stand beside me, taking my hand. "I see that this is how it will be. Fine. I will have her medical expenses paid and all debt gone. If she ever wants to leave the practice she can do so freely."

"Thank you," I murmured before looking up to Sherlock. "Shall we go home?"

We began to walk away when Mycroft shouted, "You'll learn! Both of you will, that happily ever after doesn't exist. Especially not for you, Sherlock."

We continued walking, leaving Mycroft to stand there by the pool.

"Do you think he'll leave us alone?" I asked as we got out onto the street, ignoring the curious looks from passer-by.

"Highly doubtful. He doesn't care much for you. I doubt he'd care much for any woman that I dated."

"What will we do then if he decides to do something like this again?"

Sherlock gave me a small smile, turning me towards him, pressing a kiss to my lips. "Why we prove him wrong Lila. We prove him wrong."

* * *

"Ms. McKinley! Ms. McKinley!" I turned to look at the boy with his hand up in the air and I gave him a smile.

"Yes Lucas? What is it?"

"Will you spar with George? Please? You always have us sparring, but we've never seen you."

I looked at George, who shrugged. "I'm fine with sparring. Show the kids what they can accomplish."

I sighed, going to the gym bag that I'd brought with me, taking out my mouth guard. "Fine. But all of you need to go and sit against the wall and _don't_ _move."_

The sixteen kids all giggled, going to join their parents sitting against the wall. I rolled the mat out before putting my mouth guard in. I hadn't intended to spar, especially not with George, who hadn't been studying for as long as I had. He'd only had his black belt for three years, whereas I'd had mine since I was seventeen.

I stepped up to the mat, bowing to George as he stepped forward. He bowed as well and I gave him a small smile, motioning for him to come at me. He lunged forward and I stepped out of his way. I let him go, waiting for him to tire himself out as he tried to land a blow. I merely blocked each strike, the children giggling as they watched. He was out of breath after about five minutes and I smiled.

"Ready?" I asked the children, voice muffled because of the mouth guard.

"Yes!" They all chimed in and I chuckled.

"You ready George?"

"Stop blocking and come at me!"

I smiled. "You asked for it."

Ten minutes later and I was helping George up from the mat for the fourth time. He was out of breath and the children were all watching, wide-eyed, mouths agape. Lucas began to clap slowly and soon the entire group joined in. I blushed, bowing deeply. As I straightened up, I saw Sherlock standing by the doorway. I looked at all the children, smiling.

"Alright! That's the end of the lesson for today. I hope our sparring didn't frighten any of you. That was an example of what you'll be able to do if you practice hard. Next lesson will be next Thursday at four o'clock. Remember to keep practicing and parents, if you have any questions, please feel free to call me. My number is on the bottom of the form that was given to you at the beginning of the lesson."

They all moved to leave and I looked at George. "You alright?"

"Fine," he said, grimacing as he moved towards the desk. "Right as rain. I'll be needing a warm bath, but I'm fine."

"Ms. McKinley! Ms. McKinley!" Lucas shouted, bounding up to me.

I knelt down in front of him. "Yes Lucas? What is it?"

"I wanted to tell you how bloody brilliant you were! It was like watching a movie on the telly! I want to be like you! Do you promise you'll teach me?"

"Of course," I said, ruffling his hair, watching as Sherlock moved to look behind the desk. "You have to keep up your practice though. But I'll see you next week, alright? Have your mum call me if you or her have any questions."

"Alright! Bye Ms. McKinley!"

"Good-bye Lucas."

I got to my feet, going to stand in front of Sherlock. "What are you doing here? I told you I wasn't going to finish my class until four-thirty."

"I know. I wanted to come and take you to dinner."

I raised an eyebrow. "You never ask me to dinner. What's the matter?"

Sherlock sighed. "Go and get dressed. We'll talk about it on the way as we walk."

"Sherlock, is everything alright?"

"For now. But the game is on. Or almost on anyway. Never mind. Go and get dressed. We'll talk when you're done."

I sighed, going into the private locker rooms. I froze when I saw who was sitting in front of my locker, doing her make-up.

"Hello sister dear!" Olivia turned to give me a wide grin. "Have fun at your lesson?"

"What are you doing here?" I asked, keeping my voice low, cursing myself for having left my gun in my locker.

"Came by to stop for a chat. Your boyfriend, he's a handsome fellow, isn't he?"

"What are you _doing_ here?" I snarled, hands forming fists.

"Well, it seems that we have a bit of unfinished business. I mean, you had most of my men locked away, my weapons and machine confiscated." She sniffed. "But the one thing you forgot to get is _me_. I needed a bit of time away from you of course. I was very cross with you. But I haven't forgotten about my dear old sister, oh no. Instead, _my_ boyfriend and I have been working on a very special present for you and yours."

I felt my skin crawl as the conversation seemed vaguely familiar. Had we already discussed this before? "Who on earth would want to date you? Who is sick and twisted enough to have a relationship with you?"

Olivia laughed. "Oh! So you _don't_ remember! Fascinating. Well then, I believe I'll leave it as a surprise. Give mommy dearest my love. We'll be chatting soon." She began to walk out through the back entrance and was nearly out the door when her head poked around the corner. "Oh and you may want to stop your boyfriend from drinking that water on the counter. Its got a bit of a nasty surprise if he does."

My face paled and I dashed forward grabbing my gun from my locker before running out of the locker room. My sister's laugh echoed through my mind even as I skidded out in time to see George grabbing the bottle from the counter, nervous as he spoke to Sherlock. Time slowed down as I raised my gun, pointing it at the bottle.

But Sherlock was faster than I was and he knocked the unopened bottle to the floor. I stood there, hand shaking as I continued to aim where the bottle had been. I was frozen, unable to even comprehend what had happened. Sherlock stepped beside me, grabbing my arm gently even as George stared at me with frightened eyes.

"Finger off the trigger," Sherlock murmured. "Easy now. Easy. Take your finger off of the trigger and lower the gun."

I took a deep breath, shaking myself even as I tucked the gun into my belt. "Sorry about that George."

"W-what's going on?" George stammered out and I could tell that I had frightened him. "Why do you have that?"

"Personal protection," Sherlock answered, not looking up from his phone as he sent a text. "Don't touch that bottle. The police should be here any minute. I suggest closing for the day and going home to hug your girlfriend."

"But I don't have a-"

"Yes you do. And you should be happy that you have her. I'm guessing you all have been together at least a year, judging by the wear and tear on the seat of your moped. Also, you smell of women's deodorant, meaning that you got ready without a light on and grabbed hers instead of yours by mistake." Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear. "Now, I'd like to ask you to stop trying to date Lila. It's quite annoying receiving your drunk texts at two in the morning on the weekends."

I wrinkled my nose. "You have a girlfriend?"

"Well, we're on a break!"

I shook my head. "You're a pig. I'm going to go and get dressed. Sherlock, I'll be out in about ten minutes and then we'll go to dinner. You have a lot to explain."

"As do you. I'll deal with Lestrade when he arrives."

I got dressed quickly, glancing around at every sound. The fact that she could so easily appear bothered me. She was like a ghost in that regard. I wanted to scream, to cry. Mostly, I wanted to shoot her and end her miserable life.

' _And I thought Sherlock's brother was bad,'_ I thought to myself even as I tugged my simple t-shirt over my head. _'At least his wants to look out for him. Mine wants to kill me.'_

I sighed even as I exited, finding Sherlock deep in conversation with Lestrade. George was being interrogated by another officer and I took a deep breath before forcing a smile. "Greg! So good to see you! Haven't heard from you since the wedding. How've you been?"

"Fine. I hear you're getting yourself into trouble."

"No, not at all. Had a visitor is all."

"Your sister?" He asked and I winced. "Is this the first time that she has contacted you?"

"Since February, yes."

"No contact with her since then?"

I bit back a retort, only raising my eyebrow at him. "Greg, haven't we had this discussion before? I seem to recall how it ended the last time. Do you really want to go there again?"

"I...erm, alright, I will mark that down as a no contact since February. Will you be available later on in the evening to give us a statement? Sherlock told us that you have a doctor's appointment in twenty minutes."

"I'll be available around eight I should say. Was going to clean the flat today."

"Good luck with that," Lestrade muttered under his breath. "We'll be in touch."

Sherlock and I left, brushing past police officers and forensics, noting that there were quite a few in hazmat suites. We walked down the street a ways before Sherlock began talking.

"I've been working on a case."

"Without me."

"Yes."

"Why? I thought we were going to work together."

"We are. I've been doing some...preliminary research on my own."

I continued walking, adjusting the gun tucked into my waistband. I'd left the holster at home, as I didn't want to make it more obvious that I was carrying a weapon. "So, when were you going to tell me?"

"Today. Or tomorrow. I figured that the sooner I told you though, the better it would be."

"Who are we investigating?"

Sherlock's eyes grew cold and distant. "His name is Charles Magnussen. He's-"

"He's a Danish businessman who owns several newspapers. I saw the notes on your desk. Why are you interested in him?"

"Because, my dear, blackmail is quite illegal. That and someone asked me to clear their husband's name. The game is about to be on, Delilah, and I need to know that no matter what happens, you'll still be there for me at the end."

"Sherlock, what on earth are you talking about?" I stopped on the corner to look up at him, a frown on my face. "What is the point of this conversation?"

"Delilah...do you remember Janine?"

* * *

I sat staring at the pizza, unable to look at Sherlock as he stood by the window. I was seething with rage. I hadn't spoken to him the entire way back to the flat even as he tried to explain his plan. I couldn't believe him. I was actually supposed to go along with his plan and be happy about it? I was supposed to let her waltz in, _sleep_ with him, and be completely fine.

I opened my mouth to say something, but then closed it again. I couldn't form one coherent thought that didn't involve a string of curse words. I didn't want to say anything that I would regret. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I reached for it, flipping it open.

 _ **Hey! John and I got back in town last night. I meant to text you earlier. How've you been? How are things going? I've missed you so much. We'll have to catch up one day after work. -MW**_

 _ **Sherlock put you up to this, didn't he…? -DM**_

 _ **Well, that didn't take you long to figure out. Damn. How did you know?- MW**_

 _ **Because you two returned two nights ago and we had a girl's night out planned for next week already before you left. That and I saw Sherlock texting someone about ten minutes ago. -DM**_

 _ **I swear, the more you live with that man, the more you begin to act like him. What happened? Have you two had a spat? -MW**_

 _ **He broke up with me. -DM**_

I heard Sherlock's phone begin to ring not two minutes after I sent the message to Mary. He answered it, wincing and holding it away from his ear. I grabbed a slice of pizza, watching the explosion.

"Now now, Mary, calm down. This isn't good for the baby." He sighed. "Well, I wanted to see someone else. No, I'm not telling you who. Go ahead and tell John, that's fine. Oh. Hello John." He glanced over at me in irritation as I calmly ate my pizza. "Well, she and I have our differences. Like toothpaste. And she puts the toilet paper on under when you know that I like it over." More silence. "It may seem ridiculous to you, but those are dealbreakers for me. Yes, she'll continue to live here. I don't know, she hasn't spoken to me since we got back. She took her pizza up to her room and left me downstairs. Fine. I will apologize to her. Talk soon."

Sherlock ended the call and I looked up at him, still feeling angry, but not as much as I had been before the phone call. I thought that he'd gotten what he deserved for asking me to go along with such a stupid plan. He sighed, sitting down in his chair. "Well, that went well."

"So I heard." I put a slice of pizza on a plate, handing it to him. "It worked then?"

"I'd say so. I...didn't want to do this to you. I-"

I held up my hand to him. "You owe me Sherlock. Big time. Especially if I have to tolerate that idiot being in our flat."

"Our flat?"

"Well, so long as she doesn't find out that we're still seeing each other, yes. It's our flat. Just like you're my boyfriend." I tossed the crust onto the plate, grabbing another piece. "Unless you forgot that your relationship is going to be pretend with Janine."

Sherlock smiled. "You are probably the only woman that wouldn't fly off the handle about this."

"Oh, believe me when I say Sherlock, that I am still absolutely infuriated with you about this entire situation. But, if this is for the good of England, then I'll participate." I gave him a small smile. "Don't expect me to be nice to her though. And if she takes up too much time in the bath, I will say something."

He chuckled and I watched as he took a bite of the pizza. "Fine. You don't have to be nice. But please try and tolerate her. For me. I don't need her running off."

We ate in silence and when we finished, I put the other half of the pizza away in the refrigerator. I turned, finding Sherlock standing directly behind me. "Jesus Sherlock, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Lila, will you dance with me?"

I realized that he'd put music on in the background and had cleared a small space in the living room. I nodded my head slowly, taking his hand. "Trying to be romantic after upsetting me, eh?"

"I wanted to show you that I do feel bad for doing this to you. I know you heard what I said in the pool." We began to waltz our way around the living room.

"I did. I also hear you call me that nickname a lot. When did that start?"

"When I started loving you," he said simply and my jaw dropped.

"I...I never thought that I would hear you say those words to me. Or anyone for that matter."

"Well, I don't really know how else to express my feelings for you. These past six months...they've been a whirlwind. I hated you to start out. Absolutely loathed you. Then, when we were working the case together, I began to tolerate you. And after you saved my life, I began to trust you." Sherlock gave me a small smile, tucking a curl behind my ear. "When we made love the first time, I realized that I didn't want to be apart from you. When you were tortured for a week, I realized that my heart could break and that I cared deeply for you. When I saw you with that gun to your head, even though I knew there were no bullets in there, it terrified me, the idea of losing you. And now...having lived with you all this time and seeing you come out of your shell, seeing you recover from everything...it made me realize that I love you and that perhaps I could take a chance on you."

I watched in shock as he stopped dancing, getting down to one knee in front of me. "I don't know how to do romantic. I don't know how to express myself properly. I am impossible to deal with and even more impossible to love. But, somehow, you've managed to do it. You've managed to open me up, become a more emotionally expressive person." He pulled a blue velvet box from his pocket, opening it up to reveal a beautiful heart-shaped garnet ring, with two small diamonds on either side. "Delilah Claire McKinley, will you marry me?"

I felt the air leave my lungs, my head spinning. I managed to nod before bursting into tears. Sherlock got to his feet, pulling me tight even as I buried my face into his shoulder. He rubbed my back, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of my head.

"Why are you crying?"

"B-because I'm so happy Sherlock. Yes. Yes I'll marry you."

He smiled, slipping the ring onto my finger. "Good. Because there's no one else on this planet that I'd want to marry besides my thief. I love you."

"I love you too Sherlock. I'll always love you."


	14. Chapter 14: Please God

***Hello lovelies! I'm getting ready to bunker down for the snow that's coming, so I wanted to get out the next chapter in case I lose power. I hope everyone is doing well. This next chapter was a bit difficult for me to write, only because I know that the chapter after it is going to be even worse. I think there will be another couple of chapters and then I will end Stealing His Heart and begin writing the sequel. Again, I wanted to give huge props to Ariane DeVere. She has made some amazingly in-depth transcripts that I have been using to help me write this. If you're going to write a Sherlock piece that keeps close to the storyline, go and use her for your reference. As always, reviews are welcome and you can PM whenever you like. I hope everyone stays warm and safe and I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Please God**

 _ **Del, I know you're sleeping, but I need you to call me as soon as you can. –JW**_

 _ **Del, please wake up. We need to talk to you. Did you know Sherlock was doing drugs? I mean,**_

 _ **I know you've been upset with him since you two ended things, but you had to have known, right? Give John or I a ring as soon as you wake. It's important. –MW**_

 _ **Delilah? It's Molly. I wanted to let you know that Sherlock is doing drugs. Did you know anything about it? Keep an eye on him, for all of us. Thanks. Call one of us when you can. –MH**_

 _ **You knew. You knew he was doing drugs and you didn't tell any of us. I knew getting involved with you was bad for him. I'll ruin you for this, I hope you know that. –MH**_

 _ **Do not pay attention to any of them. It's for the case. –SH**_

I read through all of the text messages repeatedly in bed, hearing the crashing and banging going on downstairs. I had no doubt that either the police were searching the flat, or Mycroft's men were. I got up, going quietly to the window of my room, watching as Sherlock got out of a cab with John, John paying the cabbie as Sherlock came inside the flat.

"For _God's_ sake!" I heard Sherlock shout and I heard him stomping up the stairs.

I'd known what he was going to do that night. I'd also known that he was on drugs. He'd told me his plans and kept me up to date about keeping in contact with Janine. She'd already spent the night twice and they'd gone on a few dates.

It made my stomach turn, but every time I was upset about it, I touched the ring around my neck next to my father's wedding band. It reminded me that I was his and that I would always be his. It was for a case and it was to help people. And at the end of the day, Sherlock Holmes still loved me.

"Anderson," I heard Sherlock growl from my bedroom. I slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and pulled my robe over my shoulders, knowing that things were going to get very ugly very quickly.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," I heard Anderson say. "It's for your own good."

I took the stairs quietly, standing outside of my closed door to listen to the conversation.

"Oh, that's _him_ isn't it? You said he'd be taller." I wrinkled my nose at the sound of a woman's voice. Who in the bloody hell was that?

I opened the door a crack, spotting Sherlock sitting in his chair, looking high out of his mind with his hood up over his head. Mycroft stepped in my way, looking at Sherlock.

"Some members of your little fan club. Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat. I thought that was what you kept that woman around for, to clean up your messes? She's obviously slacking at her job." I gritted my teeth, knowing that he was talking about me. Sherlock had curled up in his chair and laid his head on one of the arms, eyes closed. "You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit."

I watched as Sherlock opened his eyes, glaring at his brother. "I do not have a drug habit!"

"Hey, what happened to my chair?"

"It was blocking my view to the kitchen. That, and Delilah was going to rearrange the living room the other day but got called away by one of her student's parent's wanting an extra lesson."

"Well, it's good to be missed," John grumbled as he turned to Mycroft.

"Well, you were gone. Delilah and I saw an opportunity."

"No, you saw the kitchen."

"What have you found so far?" Mycroft asked Anderson. "Clearly nothing."

"There's nothing _to_ find," Sherlock insisted and I could hear the impatience in his voice.

I stepped out from my place in the doorway. "What in the bloody hell is going on here? Jesus Christ, I wake up and there's a bunch of missed calls and text messages."

Everyone in the room stared at me and I placed my hands on my hips. "Well? Do any of you want to explain _why_ you're tearing the flat apart?"

"Sherlock…well, he…" John grabbed my arm, pulling me down towards him. "I found him in a drug den looking for one of Mary's friend's son's. Sherlock was with him and…he's high. Molly tested him."

I looked at Sherlock, doing my best to feign disbelief. "Sherlock! How could you?"

"Oh good God. I am on a _case_."

Mycroft turned to look down the hallway where Sherlock's room was. "Your bedroom door is shut."

Sherlock sighed and I glanced over at him, trying to figure out how he wanted me to play this out. Mycroft began walking down the hallway. "You haven't been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?"

I watched as Sherlock raised his head, flipping back the hood of his jacket while Mycroft walked down the hall. He placed his hand on the doorknob and Sherlock threw himself into a sitting position. "Okay, stop! Just stop." Mycroft turned the knob. "Point made."

"Jesus, Sherlock," John said, running a hand through his hair.

Mycroft was coming back down the hall towards us. I caught Sherlock's eye and he signed out what I knew he was going to. I sighed softly, shaking my head and going to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I could feel Mycroft glaring at me as he walked past.

"Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing."

I heard Sherlock sigh, going and walking to close the gap between him and his brother. I put the kettle on, turning to watch as Sherlock said, "This is not what you think. This is for a case."

"What case could possibly justify _this?_ " Mycroft asked, a smile on his face.

"Magnussen." I watched as Mycroft's smile fell. "Charles Augustus Magnussen."

Mycroft drew in a breath, turning to Anderson and the woman. "That name you think you may have just heard, you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you, on behalf of the British security services, that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply, just look frightened and scuttle."

The two people who had been wrecking the flat left, closing the door behind him. Mycroft turned on me. "And you can go ahead and start cleaning up the mess. You don't need to hear any of this as you won't understand it."

I laughed. "Fat chance of that Mycroft. I'm staying and listening. I work for him, remember? And we have a deal, so you have nothing to threaten me with."

He sighed before turning to John. "I hope I won't have to threaten you as well."

"Well, I think we'd both find that embarrassing." Sherlock laughed, turning his head away.

Mycroft's attention jerked to Sherlock. "Magnussen is not your business."

Sherlock turned and pointed at his brother. "Oh, you mean he's _yours."_

"You may consider him under my protection."

"I consider you under his thumb."

Mycroft dropped his voice and I could feel the mood in the room shift. "If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against _me._ "

"Okay, I'll let you know if I notice." Sherlock walked towards the kitchen door and I watched him, trying to judge how he was feeling. "Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah." Sherlock threw the door open. "Bye-bye."

Mycroft began to walk towards the door that Sherlock had opened before stopping in front of him. "Unwise, brother mine."

I saw Sherlock's mood switch over and before I or John could move, Sherlock had grabbed Mycroft's left arm, twisting it up behind his back, slamming him face-first into the wall beside the kitchen door. I tried to hide my smile as Mycroft cried out in pain.

"Brother mine, don't appall me when I'm high."

I calmly took the kettle off of the stove as John hurried to Mycroft's side. "Mycroft, don't say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might."

"No, go ahead. Say another word. I want to watch," I said with a smile, watching as Sherlock's grip tightened.

John shot me an angry look even as Mycroft pushed himself free of Sherlock. Sherlock turned and walked away. Mycroft turned towards him and I wanted to clap with glee, hoping that there would be a full on fight.

"Don't speak. Just leave." Mycroft lowered his right arm and John looked towards the floor. "Oh."

John picked up the umbrella and I watched as Mycroft snatched it from him, leaving quickly. John shot me another glance even as I fixed two cups of tea, one for myself and one for Sherlock. "What in the bloody hell was that about?"

"He and I have a bit of a…feud going if you will," I replied, taking a sip of the tea. "He threatened me and I didn't much appreciate it. So, if Sherlock would have broken him, I really wouldn't have tried to stop it."

"You do realize that Sherlock is _high_ right now, yes? And that any sort of rage that comes from him will be drug induced and difficult to stop?"

"Yes. I gathered that from the half-dozen text messages on my phone this morning. Now, are you done with the questioning?"

John looked at me, mouth agape. "Are _you_ high right now?"

I laughed. "Really John? No, I'm tired and I know I'm going to have to spend most of my day straightening the flat because of those idiots."

I exited the kitchen, finding Sherlock stretching and rubbing the back of his neck. I knew he was tired. I could see it in his face. I set the tea down on the table before going to curl up on my spot on the couch, taking a sip. John walked in behind me, looking at Sherlock questioningly.

"Er, Magnussen?"

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked.

"About eight."

Sherlock sniffed deeply before sighing. "I'm meeting him in three hours. I need a bath."

"Your tea's going to get cold," I murmured.

He grabbed the cup, taking a deep gulp before walking through the kitchen towards the hallway.

"It's for a case, you said?" John asked.

"Yep."

"What sort of case?"

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in." I smiled, watching as John hesitated.

"You trying to put me off?"

"God, no. Trying to recruit you like I recruited Lila." I could hear the smile in his voice from my spot on the couch. "And stay out of my bedroom!"

I rolled my eyes, knowing who was in there. I felt my temper flare up, but I kept it in check even as I glanced around the room, trying to mentally calculate how long it would take me to straighten up before we had to meet Magnussen.

"Oh, John, hi." I heard her voice from down the hall. "How are you?"

"Janine?" I could hear the shock in John's voice.

"Sorry. Not dressed." I watched as she walked into the kitchen in nothing but one of Sherlock's old shirts. I had to bite my tongue from telling her to get out. "Has everybody gone? I heard shouting."

"Yes, they're gone. Well, except for Delilah."

Janine seemed to ignore the comment. "God, look at the time. I'll be late." There was a pause. "Sounded like an argument. Was it Mike?"

"Mike?" I rolled my eyes again. Her and her stupid nicknames.

"Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They're always fighting."

"Mycroft."

"Do people actually call him that?!" I clenched my jaw to keep myself from saying something.

"Yeah."

"Huh! Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?"

John hesitated before saying, "Sure, right, yeah."

"Thanks!" She called and I could hear her walking down the hallway. "Oh, how's Mary? How's married life?"

"She's fine. We're both fine, yeah."

I heard John rummaging around in the cabinets and I sighed, putting my tea down on the table. "I moved it John. Cabinet next to the sink."

"Where's Sherl?" I nearly gagged when she used the stupid pet-name she'd given Sherlock.

"Sherl!" I heard John say under his breath. "He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."

"Oh, like he ever is!"

' _Don't you do it,'_ I thought to myself, my fist clenching with my fury. _'Don't you dare do it. I swear to God almighty I will kill you if you do.'_

I heard her walk down the hallway, knocking on a door. I was on my feet, heading towards the hallway. I heard her giggle, "Morning! Room for a little one?!"

John grabbed me by my arm and I heard Sherlock say, "Morning."

I could hear the sound of water splashing and then Janine let out a little squeal of joy. I looked at John, feeling the tears touching my eyes. I hated that woman almost as much as I hated my sister.

' _It's only temporary. Keep that in mind. Only temporary. And once it's done, you can do whatever you wish. You have to trust Sherlock when he says that she means nothing.'_

"Delilah?"

"Hmmm?" I looked at John as he pulled me from my thoughts.

"You're…you're crying."

"Oh. Sorry." I reached for a rag on the counter. "I suppose I was. I'm…still not used to it."

"Do you want me to speak with him when he's sober? This isn't fair to you."

I shook my head slowly. "It's his life. As it's also his life that he started using drugs again. What should I care?"

"So...you knew he was doing drugs? You knew and you didn't tell us?"

I stared at John, not knowing how much I should tell him. "Yes. I did. I found him getting high one time downstairs, asked him what he was doing. He said it was for a case and I figured that it was his business. So long as the rent gets paid, what should I care?" I could see the shock in John's eyes. "It's his life and his choice. If he thinks he can handle it, then I leave him be. Now, I'm going to go and get dressed. We have a meeting with Magnussen in three hours."

I pulled my arm out from John's grip, turning to run up the stairs to my room. I wanted to cry, to scream. I couldn't wait until this case was over with and I could personally throw her out of our flat. I'd need to talk with Sherlock. I was going to break if he kept this up, especially with her so seemingly hell bent on making me upset.

I tugged a dark green oversized jumper over my head and a pair of black yoga pants on. I needed to keep myself free to move as I'd be cleaning most of the day, except for when we went to the meeting. I grabbed the cleaning supplies from under my bed. Sherlock had been trying to hunt them down since I started organizing the flat a week ago.

To say that he was irritated that I was trying to clean the flat and put it to rights was an understatement. I was fighting an uphill battle and there were quite a few arguments over it. He'd never admit to me that it was actually easier, but I'd noticed that he was a lot less stressed when he was looking for something pertaining to the case.

I brushed my hair, which hardly took any time at all as it had only grown to mid-neck since February. I grabbed two bobby pins from my small dresser, pinning the pieces on the side back and out of my face. That was the most irritating thing about my hair growing back out. It was everywhere.

Going down the stairs, cleaning supplies clutched tight in one hand, I found John sitting on the edge of the coffee table. "You know, I have your chair in storage downstairs. I could go and get it if you'd like."

John waved his hand at me. "You're fine. I understand. So...rearranging?"

I nodded. "Cleaning too. Sherlock has been fighting me on it tooth and nail. He'll never admit that it makes his life easier, but I know it does. My asthma couldn't handle how dusty it was."

"Yeah. Sherlock's not much of a duster."

"Try a clean and organized person in general," I said with a chuckle. "Do you need some tea or anything?"

"No. I'm fine. Say, where did you get that ring around your neck? I've never seen it before." He looked at me suspiciously. "You didn't steal it did you?"

I laughed. "John, first you ask if I'm doing drugs and then you ask if I've gone back to stealing. No. I'm not doing either of those things. I gave that up once I had a safe place to stay and a steady job. It was from my mother. It was her engagement ring from my father and she wanted me to have it."

He nodded, but I could tell that he didn't quite believe me. "Why'd she give it to you now?"

"Because we made up," I answered, cleaning the shelves of the bookcase with furniture polish before I put the books back on. "She wanted me to have it. She was going to give it to Olivia, but…"

"I understand. Sorry."

"No, it's fine. I understand that everything is really confusing right now. I mean, Sherlock has Janine when you and Mary thought that we were together, he's on drugs again, and I'm cleaning the flat. It must be strange to see how much things can change."

I heard the bathroom door open and watched as Sherlock walked out in his black trousers and white shirt. He was walking down the hallway and judging by his relaxed nature, he and Janine had had a wonderful bath. I felt the vomit rise up in my throat at the thought of him being with her. He was grabbing his jacket, putting it on. I could feel his eyes on me as I cleaned the bookcase.

"So. It's just a guess, but you've probably got some questions."

' _Yes, I do. Like why in the hell are you still sleeping with that bitch?'_

"Yeah, one or two, pretty much."

"Naturally." I heard him turn to no doubt look at Janine, who I'd seen out of the corner of my eye going to the bedroom. I continued to clean, knowing that I needed to keep something in my hands or else I was going to choke the life out of her.

"You have a girlfriend? Well, a new girlfriend?"

I heard Sherlock sit in his chair. "Yes, I have." I began to scrub the shelf a little bit harder, gritting my teeth. "Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark. It's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John? Stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes...that's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen."

I'd turned to look at Sherlock, seeing the determination in his eye. I touched the ring around my neck, knowing that once this was all over, I could wear it freely and we could begin planning our wedding. I smiled to myself.

"Yes, you have," I heard John mutter and I looked at him curiously.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock said irritatedly.

"You have a new girlfriend." I winced at his words.

"What? Yes! Yes, I'm going out with Janine." I fought back the urge to gag. "I thought that was fairly obvious."

"Yes. Well...yes. I only thought that...well, you and Delilah-"

"I _am_ still in the room you know," I said through gritted teeth, setting down the furniture polish. "Sorry, should I leave?"

"No," they both said simultaneously and I sighed, going to curl up on my spot on the couch.

"Fine. Continue the conversation. Pretend like I'm not here. I'm going to be studying."

I grabbed my book on nursing from the coffee table, flipping to the page I had been on. The two men stared at me before John turned back to Sherlock. "I mean, you, you, you...are in a _relationship?"_

I glanced up at Sherlock who blinked. "Yes, I am."

"You and Janine?"

"Oh for Christ's sake," I muttered under my breath.

"Mmm, yes. Me and Janine."

"Care to elaborate?"

' _No he does not,'_ I thought to myself, flipping through pages, not really reading anything. _'And I swear to God if he does I am going to leave.'_

"Well, we're in a good place. It's, um…" He paused and I knew he was searching for words that wouldn't make me angry with him. "Very affirming."

I snickered. Very affirming? What in the hell was that supposed to mean?

"You got that from a book," John said, trying to hide his laughter.

"Everyone got that from a book," Sherlock retorted.

I could hear Janine coming down the hall and I glanced up over the edge of my book to watch her come into the room. "Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves. Oh, and Delilah, there's a bit of a mess in the bathroom that you may want to clean up."

I sighed. "You couldn't clean it up?"

"Unfortunately I'm running late for work," she replied, sitting on the arm of Sherlock's chair. I watched with disgust as he put his arm around her and she leaned close to his face. "And you, Sherl, you're going to have to tell me where you were last night."

"Working."

"Working. Of course. _I'm_ the only one who really knows what you're like, remember?" That was all I could take. I snapped my book closed, getting to my feet and storming off to the kitchen.

I slammed my fist into the fridge, picturing Janine's face even as I connected with the metal. I was trembling all over, trying to gain control of myself, focusing on my breathing. That _bitch._ I touched the ring around my neck even as I fought the tears. I heard the door to the flat close.

"Delilah? Could you come back in here please?" I heard Sherlock call from the living room. "We need to discuss the case."

"Right, the case. I'll be in there in a second!" I looked down at my hand, wincing at the already swelling flesh. I grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer before going into the living room, not even acknowledging Sherlock standing by the door.

"What did you do to your hand?" John asked, frowning.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Let me see."

"It's fine, John. Leave it alone. Now. Magnussen."

"Yes, Magnussen. You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's _so_ much more than that." I saw the frown form on John's face even as I leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, nursing my hand. "He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power." Sherlock passed by me, going to sit at the dining table, opening his laptop. "I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail," I watched as he pulled up the blueprint to Magnussen's home, "and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name is Appledore."

"Dinner." I shook my head, trying to get over the randomness of the statement from John even as I went to look over the blueprints to the building.

"Sorry, what dinner?"

"Me and Mary, coming for dinner...with...wine and...sitting." I shook my head, going to sit at the table across from Sherlock, examining the blue print once again.

"Seriously? I've just told you that the Western world is run from this house and you want to talk about dinner?"

"Fine, talk about the house."

I had to fight a laugh as Sherlock shot John a look of thinly veiled disgust before he turned back to the laptop. "It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world. The Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals. And none of it is on a computer. He's smart, computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house." I looked to where Sherlock was pointing on the screen, brow furrowing. "And as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy."

I heard the knock on the door even as I stared at the blueprints. Mrs. Hudson walked into the kitchen. "Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"It's in the fridge. It kept ringing." I sighed, getting up from my seat to open the fridge. Sure enough, there was the doorbell.

"Oh, that's not a fault, Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson said and I could tell that she was trying to admonish him to no avail.

"I'll put it back on later Mrs. Hudson," I said softly. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's no trouble dear. You're not the one who did it."

"Who is it?" John asked and I heard Mrs. Hudson draw in an anxious breath.

"I don't know. I'll go and let them in."

"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked her, frowning at how much she seemed to be frightened.

"I'll be fine dear." Mrs. Hudson left the room, going down the stairs.

John crossed to me, taking the peas off of my hand. He winced. "You've broken your hand."

"Sprained it."

"Judging from the swelling, you've broken it," he said firmly. "I'll need to set it when we figure out who it is at the door."

"Mr. Holmes said you can go right up," I heard Mrs. Hudson squeak.

I stepped into the living room, watching as three men in dark suits walked in. I frowned at how frightened Mrs. Hudson seemed, pressed against the wall. I watched as a fourth man walked up the stairs, glancing at Mrs. Hudson. I recognized him immediately and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

Sherlock went to stand next to the fireplace with John even as the three men, who I now recognized as security judging by their ear pieces, stood in front of them. Sherlock sighed, unfolding his arms. "Oh, go ahead."

Sherlock spread his arms, allowing one of the men to frisk him. Another walked up to John and the third approached me. I bit my tongue before spreading my arms, feeling the man's hands frisking me.

"Sir?" The security guard in front of John asked.

John glanced at Sherlock before looking back at the man. "Can I have a moment?"

"Oi! Watch where you put your hands!" I growled even as the man frisking me grabbed my ass. "I am a lady and I expect to be treated as one."

Sherlock glanced up at me as they finished with him. He turned to the man in front of John. "Oh, he's fine."

The man glanced at Sherlock before kneeling down in front of John. "Er, I...right. I should probably tell you…" I watched as they produced a knife from John's jacket pocket. "Okay, I...That. And…" I winced as the man produced a tire lever from John's jeans.

The man searching me groped my inner thigh and I reacted immediately, driving my knee into his face, grabbing his arm, and flipping him face down onto the floor. I drove my knee into the small of his back, ignoring his cry of pain. I looked up to see two guns pointing directly at me. I raised my hands, seeing the alarmed looks on John and Sherlock's face.

"I can vouch for these two people," Sherlock said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. "He's a doctor and she is my flatmate, who also happens to be a rape victim and a third degree black belt in taekwondo. If you know who I am, then you know who they are." Sherlock turned to look at the man in the doorway. "Don't you Mr. Magnussen?"

"Put your guns away. And you. Let him up." I got to my feet, going to stand between John and Sherlock, fighting the shakes even as two of the security guards stood next to us, the third that I had attacked going to the kitchen, no doubt to clean himself up.

"I understood we were meeting at your office," Sherlock said

"This is my office," Magnussen said, walking slowly towards the sofa before stopping and turning to look at John. There was a pause before he said, "Well, it is now."

He sat down on the couch, picking up my book from the table. I glanced over at Sherlock, feeling nervous. This man acted as though he owned the place. I already couldn't stand him. "Mr. Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters." I could tell that Magnussen was ignoring him, seemingly trying to get comfortable on the sofa. "Some time ago you...put pressure on her concerning those letters." Magnussen glanced up at him, leaning back on the sofa. "She would like those letters back."

I watched as he stared at Sherlock for an abnormal amount of time. Sherlock began to speak again. "Obviously, the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind…" he paused and I could tell that he'd finally caught on that Magnussen wasn't paying attention. Magnussen snorted. "Something I said?"

"No, no. I was reading." He adjusted his glasses. "There's rather a lot. Redbeard." I looked at Sherlock, watching as he blinked, mouth opening slightly in shock. "Sorry. S-sorry. You were probably talking?"

"I...I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of-"

"Bathroom?" Magnussen interrupted, asking the security guard beside John and I.

"Along from the kitchen, sir."

"Okay."

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters." I glared at Magnussen as he continued to ignore Sherlock, looking towards the window. "I'm aware that you do not make copies of sensitive documents-"

"Is it like the rest of the flat?"

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?" I growled, watching as Magnussen and his men turned to look at me.

"Sir?"

"The bathroom?" Magnussen's eyes never left my face even as I glared at him.

"Er, yes, sir."

"Maybe not then."

I could hear the impatience in Sherlock's voice. "Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

Magnussen looked at Sherlock for a moment before looking out the window again. "Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I like her."

I gritted my teeth as he popped his lips a couple of times. All of the rage that had been building inside of me was getting ready to bubble over. I bit the inside of my cheek. Sherlock again asked, "Mr. Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

"She's English, with a spine." I watched as the security guard next to Sherlock stepped towards the fireplace, taking the fire guard away from the front of the unlit fire. "Best thing about the English, you're so domesticated. All standing around, apologizing, keeping your little heads down." I watched as he stood in front of the fireplace, unzipping his trousers. "You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you." I heard the sound of him urinating and I opened my mouth to say something, but Sherlock grabbed my hand.

"A nation of herbivores. I've interests all over the world, but, er, everything starts in England. If it works here I'll try it in a real country." He took a wet wipe from the guard standing next to John. "The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Western world." He looked at Sherlock briefly. "Tell Lady Elizabeth that I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them. Goodbye." He dropped the wet wipe to the floor, turning to leave before he put his hand into his jacket's inside pocket. "Anyway, they're funny."

"You son of a bitch," I growled, stepping away from Sherlock, feeling the hands of the security guards on me. "How dare you come into our home and do this. What in God's name are those letters going to do for you? Do you get your jollies by tormenting people? Making them suffer? What kind of monster are you?"

He blinked at me, adjusting his glasses. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"What does it matter? I'm sure you've got a file on me somewhere. Let go of me!" I snarled, jerking away to stand in front of Magnussen. "Unlike everyone else in this room, I don't tolerate when some privileged prick walks into _my_ home and makes a mess." I reached down, grabbing the wet wipe from the floor. "Now, you take your trash and get out of here. And don't come back. I don't care who you bring with you, next time I'll boot you out myself."

I dropped the wet wipe onto his shoe, watching as he looked down at it. He looked up at me, smiling. "Who are you?"

"None of your goddamn business. Now get. Out."

He kicked the wet wipe off, turning on his heel and leaving. The three security guards left, shooting me dirty looks as they went. I listened to them clatter down the stairs before leaving. I slammed the door closed before letting out a shaky breath.

"Jesus!" John exclaimed furiously and I looked at him, picking the wet wipe off of the floor to throw it away with my good hand, keeping my left tucked close to my body. "You lost your temper with him a bit, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry, but were you the one getting groped by them? No, I didn't think so." I tossed the wet wipe into the trash with disgust, going to sit on the couch, trying to keep as far away from the section he'd sat in as possible. "Of course I'm going to lose my temper. I'm tired of keeping quiet about everything."

"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock murmured and I looked at him, rolling my eyes as he changed the topic.

"Wh...there was a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah," John replied, gesturing towards the fireplace.

"Exactly. When he showed us the letters."

Sherlock walked across the room, smiling. I shook my head in disbelief.

"...okay," was all that John said and I could see the frown on his face.

"He brought the letters to London, so no matter what he says, he's ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he has established a person's weaknesses, the pressure point he calls it." Sherlock picked up his coat from a dining chair, putting it on. "So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat. And, of course, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten."

"How...how do you know his schedule?"

"Because I do. Right. I'll see you both tonight. I've got some shopping to do."

"I'm not going," I called and I heard him stop, coming back up the stairs.

"What do you mean you're not coming?"

"I mean, I'm not coming. My hand hurts and, quite frankly Sherlock, between Janine being here and then Magnussen, I don't want to be around you anymore. I don't want to be on this case. You and John have fun. I'm going to clean up, maybe see if Mary's doing anything today." I could tell that he was hurt by my words, but I was hurt by his actions. "Sorry."

With that, I brushed past him, heading up the stairs to my room, slamming the door. I could feel the tears threatening to come, but I closed my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. I would not cry over Sherlock. I wouldn't. I knew this was for a case, but I couldn't get the image of Janine in his shirt out of my mind. I couldn't get the feeling of the security guard's hands off of my skin as he groped me over and over again.

I opened my phone, searching for Mary's number. I hit the send button.

"Mary? Would you like to meet for lunch somewhere in an hour?"

* * *

"Del! Oh, it's so good to see you. I've missed you!" She gave me a hug and I returned it, forcing a smile. "I'm so glad you called me. I'm sorry for sending those text messages so early. It was absolutely insane."

I sat down at the table, watching as Mary sat across from me. "So. How is your pregnancy? How is married life?"

"Both wonderful," she replied, giving me a smile. "I'm so excited for the little one. I still can't believe it. A little baby for John and I. It's so wonderful. How've you been? How are things between you and Sherlock?"

"They're non-existent. He's my flatmate, nothing more. Ever since he started bringing Janine over-"

"Janine?!" Mary covered her mouth with her hand. "Now _that's_ a couple I didn't expect."

"Yes. Neither did I." I frowned, feeling the tears once more stinging my eyes. "But, that's his choice, not mine." There was an awkward silence. "I'm sorry. I just...I needed to get out of the flat and I wanted someone to talk to. And you were the first person to pop into my head."

"Hey. It's alright. That's what best friends are for."

I laughed softly. "I keep forgetting that you say we're best friends."

"Well, aren't we?" Mary asked, sitting back in the chair. "I mean, you and I talk all the time, we hang out outside of work. I enjoy your company and I can comfortably tell you anything. I would say that that's the definition of best friends."

I gave her a smile. "True. Very true."

"Can I get you ladies anything?" The waitress asked and I gave her a smile.

"Yes please. I'll have a cappuccino and a blackberry scone." I looked at Mary. "What would you like?"

"Oh. Lemon water and a blackberry scone as well."

The waitress nodded, jotting down our orders before disappearing once more. Mary leaned forward. "So, are they...together together?"

I sighed. "Yes. They are. Or I would assume so since they shared a bath together while John was over."

Mary's eyes widened. "Are you- no!"

"Yes. It was all I could do to keep myself from punching her in the face."

"I bet." Mary pulled out her phone, furiously typing a message. "Those two are going to get a piece of my mind."

"No. Don't. It's fine. Really. I'm...used to it. I don't think it will last long anyway."

"How long have they been seeing each other?"

"Oh, I don't know. About two weeks? Or at least that's how long its been since she started spending the night." I winced as I hit my hand against the table.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, it's-"

She grabbed my hand, inspecting it. "Oh no. You poor thing. You must be in such pain."

"Well, it's my fault. I'm fine. I lost my temper. Between Janine and Magnussen-"

"Magnussen?" I watched as her face paled. "Charles Magnussen?"

"Yes? Do you know him?" I asked curiously even as the waitress set the scones and drinks down on the table.

"I've heard of him," she replied, taking a sip of her water. "So, is that who Sherlock's investigating? But why?"

I shrugged. "Blackmail apparently. I know he's staying in town for some sort of meeting. He showed up at the flat today. I...might have lost my temper."

"Why's that?"

"Well, the man's impossible. I mean, he pissed in our fireplace!" I took a bite of the scone. "Threw things on the floor. The boys were doing nothing, so I had to be the one to put him in his proper place. He won't walk into _my_ flat and be rude. No. That's not happening. And one of his security team got a bit too touchy for me."

"I'm so sorry." Mary took my hand uninjured hand. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm fine. I put him in his place too."

We chatted for a bit longer and Mary offered to come over and help me straighten the flat as well as bind my hand. I accepted and we took the cab back. As we sat in the back, I looked at her. "You know, its been a long time since I had a best friend. The only best friend I ever had was my sister."

Mary gave me a smile. "Well, I'm glad you're able to have me then."

"Mary...I wanted to say thank you. You've become like a sister to me. The older sister I never had if you will. If it weren't for you, John, and Sherlock...well, who knows where I'd be. You're such a wonderful person and that baby is going to have a wonderful mother."

Mary dabbed at her eyes even as the cab slowed down outside of the flat. "Thank you, Del. That's perhaps the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I'm honored."

We went upstairs, cleaning the flat, Mary binding my hand quickly with some of the sticky bandaging we'd used when I'd had my debridement. Around five thirty, Mary left and I was alone. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and I opened it, sitting down on the couch.

 _ **Lila. We could use your help and skills. -SH**_

 _ **For what? You and John are perfectly capable of doing whatever it is you're doing. I've been cleaning all day and I'm tired. I want to go to bed. We need to talk in the morning about things. I...I can't do this anymore Sherlock. -DM**_

 _ **What do you mean? What are you talking about? -SH**_

 _ **Sherlock. If I have to see that woman one more time in our flat and in your bed, prancing around like she owns the place, I'm going to kill her. And I mean it. I thought I could do this, I really did, but it hurts like hell and you don't even seem to care. -DM**_

 _ **I...I'm sorry. The whole Janine aspect of the case will be done by tomorrow. Put your ring on and wear it. I gave it to you for a reason, so that you would remember my love for you. You do remember that, don't you? -SH**_

I hesitated. Did I know that? Having Janine around had clouded my mind and my emotions. Did I really love Sherlock or had it been a fling? I touched the ring around my neck.

' _He's a good man,'_ my mother's voice whispered in my ear. _'You know he is.'_

' _Listen to your mother,'_ my father chimed in. _'She's good at judging people. He loves you. He does. You have to trust that.'_

 _ **I do Sherlock. I do. Promise me when this whole mess is done with we'll tell Mary and John and start planning our own wedding? -DM**_

 _ **I make no promises. But yes, we'll tell Mary and John. We can even do it tomorrow if you'd like. I love you. -SH**_

I was in the middle of typing my reply when another message came through. _**Now will you come and help us? -SH**_

 _ **No, Sherlock. I really am tired. I'm going to eat something and then I'm going to go and sleep in OUR bed. I washed the sheets and blankets to get rid of her smell. -DM**_

 _ **You're ridiculous. I will see you when I'm done. -SH**_

 _ **Sherlock? -DM**_

 _ **Yes? -SH**_

 _ **I love you too. I'll see you later tonight darling. I can't wait until I'm in your arms again. -DM**_

 _ **Me either. -SH**_

I smiled, re-reading the text messages. It made me so happy when he told me that he loved me. Especially now when I was doubting his feeling. I took the necklace off, removing the engagement ring, sliding it onto my finger. I looked at it, smiling. He'd done very well in picking it out, had even managed to deduce my ring size. I put the necklace back on before going and looking for something to eat, my mind wandering to Sherlock and how he and John were doing.

They would be alright though. They'd been doing this long enough.

* * *

"'Lo?"

"Delilah? Delilah, it's John."

I sat up in the bed, hearing the urgency in his tone. "John, what's going on? What's wrong?"

"Delilah...it…" I heard his voice breaking. "There has been a shooting."

I was already getting out of bed, slipping into my shoes. I grabbed my gun, going down the hall. "A shooting? A shooting where? Are you alright? Where are you?"

"Saint Bart's. Delilah, Sherlock, he...he was shot. They don't think he's going to make it."

I froze halfway down the stairs, the breath catching in my throat. "What do you mean they don't think he's going to make it?"

"He was shot in the torso. I found him bleeding out in Magnussen's room. We were trying to get those documents. He...he…"

"I will be there in ten minutes."

The tears were streaming down my face as I began running in the direction of St. Bart's.

' _Please God. Please don't do this. Please don't take_ him _from me too. I love him. Please let him be okay. Sherlock. I love you. Please be okay.'_


	15. Chapter 15: How I See You

***Hello lovelies! Here's the next chapter for you all. Seeing as it is snowing non-stop where I am and it doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon, I'm more than likely going to finish this story either tonight or tomorrow. This chapter was really difficult to write, but I knew it was coming. I hope everyone enjoys it! As always, reviews are welcome, as well as PM's with any questions or requests. Have a lovely day and I will see you all in the next chapter!***

* * *

 **Chapter 15: How I See You**

"What room is Sherlock Holmes in?" I demanded as I ran up to the front desk nurse.

"Who?"

"Sherlock Holmes! The man that they brought in that was shot!"

"Miss, you're going to have to get control of yourself. You're disturbing the other patients!"

"I don't care! Where is he?!" I was growing more panicked and angry the longer it took me to find out. "Never mind, I'll find him myself!"

"Miss. Miss you can't go running around! This is a _hospital_!"

I ignored her as I began to jog down a hallway, dialing back the last number that had called me. "John! Where are you? Where's Sherlock?"

"Emergency surgery."

I looked around at the signs, finding that surgery was on the third floor. I slammed into the stairwell door even as I heard the sound of guards running after me. I took the stairs two at a time, making it to the third floor. I paused, catching my breath for a brief moment, listening to see if security had figured out where I was going.

When I heard nothing I pushed through the door, taking off at another slow jog. I ran past room after room, nothing but the same monotonous beeping sounding as I ran past. I saw what looked like a waiting room, the words SURGERY above it in shining silver letters. I spotted John pacing back and forth under those letters.

"Where is he? What's his status?" I asked John as I ran in, looking around wildly. "Have they said anything?"

He looked at me, eyes wide. "Delilah. I didn't expect you to-"

"What's his status?" I shouted, grabbing John by the arms. "Tell me John!"

"St-still in surgery. Delilah, are you alright?"

I laughed, hearing the barely choked back hysteria. "Alright? Alright? Oh I'm perfectly fine John, having a wonderful night. You know, it's not like my fiancé was shot and could possibly die or anything like that! So yes, I am perfectly alright."

John's mouth was hanging open in shock. "You…you're engaged?"

I realized in horror what I'd said, covering my mouth with a trembling hand. John's eyes froze when he saw the ring on my bandaged hand. "Th-that's the-"

I heard the doors behind us open and I watched as a nurse walked out. "How is he?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Sherlock. How is Sherlock? Will he live? When can I see him?"

"I'm sorry, we cannot disclose any information to anyone outside of his family."

"I am his _fiancé_. Now damn it, you will tell me where he is or so help me God I will go back there and look for him myself. Where is HE?!"

The woman was shaking and her face was pale. John gently grabbed my arm, but I jerked away from him, feeling the anger and rage rolling off of me as I stared this woman down.

"I-I-I'm sorry m-miss but he's…we called time of death at 23:37."

My entire world crumbled in that single sentence. I felt my legs give out and I began to fall to the ground. John trying to catch me, but I slipped from his grip. I fell to my knees, ignoring the pain. "No. No no no no no. NO! SHERLOCK!" I half-screamed, half sobbed, grabbing at my hair. "God please don't do this to me again. Please! SHERLOCK!"

I began to hyperventilate, rocking back and forth. John sank down next to me, pulling me in his arms. "Sherlock…Sherlock no. No please God no. Sh-Sherlock!"

"Easy. Easy. Breathe for me. Breathe. Come on now."

"I…can't…" I sobbed out, clutching at the front of John's jumper. "I…can't…SHERLOCK!"

John pulled me tighter against him even as we sat in front of the operating room door. I heard the intercom cut on above us. "I need the crash team to return to operating room one. Crash team to room one."

I looked up at John. "C-crash team. Wh-what do they need a-?"

The nurse was running back down the hallway and I was shoving to my feet, standing at the doors, looking down to see if I could see anything. I watched as half a dozen nurses and doctors ran by, heading to what was more than likely operating room one. I fell to my knees once more, clasping my hands together despite the pain, closing my eyes and bowing my head.

"God, if you can hear me, I need you to answer this one prayer for me. I saw you work a miracle before when I was trapped inside of that warehouse. I need you to work one more for me. On that table is the man that I wish to be my husband, who I love with all my heart. Please, God, if you're there, please keep him alive for me. Protect him, help him. Lord, help him because I cannot. All I can do is pray." The tears continued to fall from my eyes and roll down my face. I rested my left hand on the operating room entrance, the right fisted in my lap. "I don't care what it takes. Take the breath from my body, the heart from my chest. Take my very soul if it means that Sherlock Holmes will live. I would rather survive a thousand rapes, suffer a million years of torture, than have you take him from me. In God's name I pray, amen."

"Amen," I heard John murmur next to me. I looked over through blurry eyes to see John kneeling beside me. "Come on, let's go and get a chair."

He helped me to my feet and we managed to stagger to two chairs in the corner. I sank down, putting my head in my hands. "I should have come with you."

"Hey. Don't you go blaming yourself. It's not like Sherlock and I haven't done this routine a thousand times before." John rubbed my back, but I could tell that he was as upset as I was. "The doctors here, they're good. And the fact that he's still fighting is also good. You can't give up on him Del. He's…he's going to pull through."

I wiped my eyes, still feeling the anxiety knotted in my chest. "I…I don't want him to die John. I don't want him to die without him knowing how much he means to me."

"Oh, I think he knows. That's the only way you would have even gotten a ring on your finger." John took my hand. "I don't want to lose him either. He's the closest thing to a brother I've ever had."

I gave John a watery smile. "Kind of like your wife is the closest thing to a sister I've had in a while. So does that make them siblings?"

We both chuckled softly and I looked at the door, waiting for any word on Sherlock. It came three hours later, the same nurse from before exiting, along with two members of security. I sat up, nudging John in the ribs as they approached.

"Miss?"

"Yes? How is he?"

"Well…the surgeons are calling it a medical miracle. Your fiancée, he's alive. We have him in post-op and he's recovering. He's stable, but he's still in critical condition." She gave me a smile and I got to my feet. The two security guards shifted uncomfortably.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." I was crying again and I hugged her tight. "I'm so sorry for shouting at you. I was upset."

"I understand. I don't know how I would do if it were my husband in emergency surgery. We'll let you back in about an hour or so, as long as he remains stable." I could tell that she was uncomfortable even as she awkwardly patted my back.

I let the nurse go, turning to John. "He's going to be okay. Oh John, he's going to be alright."

John pulled me in for a hug and I began to cry again, burying my face in his shoulder. We stayed like that for a few minutes until I managed to get control of myself. "I'm so happy John."

"I am as well. A few weeks of healing and they should release him. And then you two can plan for your wedding."

I gave him a small smile. "I suppose you found out that Janine was-"

"An act? Yes. I must say, you played your role very convincingly."

"Believe me when I say, my rage was not a role. I really was going to kill her if she stayed one more night in our bed. And trust me when I say that I was not at all happy about having to go along with his plan. But if it will get us Magnussen, then I'm glad we did it. That's who shot him, isn't it? Is he in custody?"

"No, not at all. When I got up there, Magnussen was bound to a chair. He had no idea who it was that shot Sherlock, only that they had knocked him out and tied him up. A man like that, he has to make a lot of enemies though. Could have been a robbery gone wrong or an assassination attempt gone awry."

I frowned. "Once Sherlock's well he'll tell us. I'm going to go and get some coffee. Do you want some?"

"I'm fine. I'll phone you if they say that we can go back to see him."

"I hope it's soon. I'm not leaving his side once he's in a room."

John gave me a small grin. "You know, he's lucky to have you."

I shook my head, returning his smile. "It's the other way around, John. I'm lucky to have him- all of you, actually- in my life. Without you three…"

"I know. Go and get some coffee. I'll look at your hand when you get back."

I nodded. "Thank you. I'll be back shortly."

I walked down the hall, glancing at the clock. 3:17. I knew I should probably try and get a small nap in the chair when I got back, but I was too wired. Sherlock was still in danger of dying and I was still a nervous wreck. I flipped my phone open, re-reading the text messages Sherlock had sent me, smiling as I read the words 'I love you' over and over again.

"I love you too," I whispered even as I found the coffee pot for family's waiting on their loved ones. "You'd better not die on me you son of a bitch."

I poured myself a cup, adding sugar and cream. I jumped as my phone buzzed in my hand. I opened it, looking at the unknown number curiously. I opened the message, eyes widening as I read.

 _ **Meet me at London Zoo, 1:30 today. Come alone, no weapons. -CAM**_

 _ **No. I am not leaving Sherlock. Tomorrow. -DM**_

 _ **I do not have time tomorrow. Today. 1:30. I'll be waiting. -CAM**_

 _ **I told you. No. I am not leaving Sherlock. -DM**_

 _ **Then I guess you don't want to know about your sister's whereabouts. That's fine. Have a grand time in that hospital. -CAM**_

I sighed. He'd figured out who I was. Damn it. I'd known it would only be a matter of time, but it was still irritating. I looked down at the screen. What would Sherlock do?

 _ **Fine. 1:30. But I want answers and I will not be away from him for more than an hour. -DM**_

 _ **It will take me thirty minutes. Don't be late. -CAM**_

I ran a hand through my hair. What was I getting myself into? And I wouldn't have Sherlock to rely on either. I walked back down the hall, finding John chatting with the nurse from earlier. I took a sip of my coffee as I approached.

"How is he?" I asked, taking another sip.

"Still stable. The doctor said that you can go back and see him if you'd like. You have to be quiet though."

"We'll be quiet as church mice," I replied. "How do we get down there?"

"Through these doors, down the hall take a right. He's the fifth door on the left. Hit the buzzer when you want to be let in and out." The nurse offered me a smile. "We'll let you two stay for as long as you'd like. Don't make a disturbance though or else we'll be forced to ask you to leave."

"Thank you. John, could we have a word before we go in?"

John raised an eyebrow, but stepped to the side with me, out of earshot of the nurse. I waited until she'd gone back into the surgery wing before I said, "John, I'm going to have to leave him at one o'clock tomorrow. Do you mind keeping an eye on him until I get back?"

"Of course I can. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to prep the flat for his return home. It shouldn't take me too long, an hour or so. If you call me and tell me he's not doing well, I'll come right back." I took another sip of my coffee, trying to gauge his reaction.

"You do know that he's not going to be home for at least three weeks, correct?"

"Might as well get an early jump on it. That and I need to change. I'd rather not start stinking."

John nodded. "Fine. I'll keep an eye on him. If you need to take longer-"

"No. I'm not leaving his side until I have to. I'll pack a bag and bring it back. Thank you." I went to push the button to let us in when I paused. "John...would you...would you mind holding my hand while we see him?"

"Sure. You want me to take your coffee?"

I shook my head. "No. Take my left hand. Just be easy with it."

He took my left hand, giving it the gentlest of squeezes. "Come on. Let's go and see him."

He and I both pushed the button, watching as the doors swung open. We walked quickly and quietly down the hall. As we arrived at the door, I felt my heart begin to race again. John glanced over at me. "You going to be alright?"

"Fine," I said, voice trembling. I cleared my throat. "So long as he's alive, I'll be fine."

John opened the door and I felt my breath catch in my chest, my legs wobbling. Sherlock looked awful. He was deathly pale and there were tubes coming from every direction. My eyes were fixed on the heart monitor, its beeping slow and steady, monotonous even. I let go of John's hand, stepping to the foot of the bed to look down at Sherlock.

"Sherlock," I whispered. "Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

John went to stand by his side, looking down at him. I noticed a chair in the corner and I set my coffee down on the table next to it. I grabbed the chair, dragging it next to the bed before I sat down. I took his hand gently, pressing a kiss to it. I was careful to make sure I didn't pull on his IV even as I held it. It felt so _cold_ , so…

"Lifeless," I whispered, feeling the tears once again trying to fall. I blinked rapidly, looking to John. "Will he be alright John? Answer me honest."

John took Sherlock's pulse before glancing at the chart. "He should be. If he survived the surgery, as long as he takes it easy, he should be alright."

I chuckled, brushing back some of Sherlock's dark hair from his forehead before stroking his cheek with my fingertips. "Him? Take it easy? Nothing is ever easy with Sherlock. Ever."

John smiled, still staring down at him. "No, unfortunately nothing is ever easy with him. But you know that as well as anyone. When did you two-"

"Get engaged? Before he started bringing Janine over. He told me who she was and that he planned on seeing her until he could get inside of Appledore to gain access to all of the files." I let go of Sherlock's hand, setting it gently on the bed. "He said that the ring was to…remind me of his love for me. That I shouldn't doubt it. And I don't. Oh Sherlock, I've never doubted your love for me."

John stood quietly, glancing up at me from time to time as I unraveled the bandaging on my hand before taking Sherlock's once more. He cleared his throat and I looked up at him. "I'm going to go and grab some coffee, maybe see if there's some place around here that sells food. Do you want anything?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. Have you told Mycroft or Molly yet?"

"Mycroft already knew and Lestrade woke Molly and told her. They should all be coming up to visit him tomorrow or the day after." He hesitated before asking me," Delilah, are you _sure_ you don't need anything? Bottle of water? More coffee?"

I shook my head, staring at Sherlock. "No, I'm fine. All I need is for him to be alright. That's all I want."

John nodded. "He'll wake up. He will. I'll be back in an hour or so. Call me if you need anything."

I watched as he walked out of the room before I turned my attention back to Sherlock. I kept holding his hand, trying to warm it, make it so that it wasn't so cold. I could only stare at him, willing him to wake up, to open his eyes. I moved myself closer to the bed, tucking my legs underneath of it. I leaned forward, resting my head on the pillow next to his. I began to whisper in his ear.

"Valentine's night. You remember it, don't you? Sitting at the kitchen table that you'd cleared off, candlelight flickering on the walls, talking about nothing and everything all at once. I want you to remember that. And I want you to remember what you told me when we began dancing and I accused you of being drunk. What did you want to tell me? How you saw me. And I told you that if you did that, that I'd have to tell you how I saw you. I…never did tell you. I want to tell you now. If you'd let me."

I thought for a split second I saw a smile on his lips, but I shook it off as my tired delusions. I pressed a kiss to his forehead before I continued. "Sherlock Holmes, when I first look at you in the morning, I see the man I love lying in bed next to me. I see the next fifty years of my life sleeping peacefully beside me. I see a man who is giving, loyal, intelligent, and above all else, a good man. When I look at you, Sherlock, I see my dark-haired angel, the man who pulled me off the streets and saved my life in more ways than one. I see arguments and fights and shouting and stubbornly sitting in the living room not acknowledging one another. But I also see making up, telling one another we love each other, and sitting peacefully in the living room next to one another, working together."

"Sherlock, when I look into your eyes I see galaxies in them filled with new adventures and knowledge and passion. I see the love of my life in those eyes, something that I never thought that I would get to have. And I am telling you now, Sherlock, that you will stay alive so that I can still see those galaxies in your eyes, so I can still see my dark-haired angel, my world, my _life._ " I wiped at my eyes with the palm of my free hand. "You are my life Sherlock Holmes and you cannot die on me. Not now, not ever. I love you. I love you so much and…to lose you…it would break me in a way that I know I couldn't recover from. You have to live my darling." I pressed a kiss before I whispered in his ear, "The game is on."

I must have dozed off after that because John was shaking my shoulder, trying to rouse me. "Hey. The nurse wanted me to wake you."

"How long have you been back for?" I asked, sitting up and stretching.

"About an hour. You were asleep and I didn't want to wake you. I ate while you slept. Managed to find a petrol station around the corner that still had a couple of sandwiches from yesterday for sale." John shrugged. "They're going to move him up to a regular room and then we can go and visit him. Come on a walk with me while they do?"

"Will they tell us which room?"

"I've already got the room number and what floor it will be on." John offered me his hand. "Come on, we'll go and get a bit of fresh air. You need a break from being on watch."

I got up from the chair, pressing another kiss to Sherlock's brow. "I'll be back soon my darling."

As we left the room, I glanced at my phone, sighing. It was six-thirty. The hustle and bustle of London would be starting. I watched as people began to trail into the waiting room where we'd been sitting a few hours ago, hoping and praying for a miracle. John and I walked outside onto an outdoor patio. I looked out across the courtyard, watching as cars zoomed by on the streets.

"Delilah?"

"Yes John?"

"I spoke with one of the surgeons who was in the room when…well, when Sherlock's heart began to beat again. He said that Sherlock said something when he opened his eyes."

"Aye? And what was that?"

"Well…strange enough, he said…well he said Mary's name."

I froze. "He said…what?"

"Mary. He said her name."

I felt sick. How could I have not seen it before?

' _Between Janine and Magnussen…Magnussen? Charles Magnussen?...Yes? Do you know him?'_ My mind was spinning, my whole body beginning to vibrate with my rage. _'Blackmail apparently. He's staying in town for some sort of meeting.'_ Mary's voice echoed in my mind. _'Delilah dear, its been fun, but I have something that I need to take care of. A meeting I need to attend. I'll text you when it's finished.'_ I heard the phone ringing in my mind. _'Delilah? Delilah it's John. Sherlock, he was shot.'_ I was turning away from John, walking back into the building. _'They don't think he's going to make it.'_

"Hey! Where are you going?" John called to me. I turned to look over my shoulder, seeing him standing there confused.

"Home. I have something that I need to take care of."

* * *

I found the door to Mary and John's flat easy enough to pick. It was a skill that I'd learned out on the streets, one that I'd hoped I wouldn't have to employ any more. I went up the stairs and opened the door, padding silently through their home. I could hear the soft sound of snoring coming from the back bedroom.

The rage was burning in the pit of my belly even as I drew my gun from my holster. I held it tight in my hand, taking a few deep breaths before I entered the bedroom. There she was, laying in the bed, sound asleep. I kicked the foot of the bed, watching as she jerked awake. I raised my gun, training it on Mary's chest.

"Delilah? Delilah, what are you doing here? How did you get in?" Her eyes focused on the gun in my hand. "Why do you have that?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what? What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me Mary. You know what I am talking about. And unlike Sherlock, I don't need an answer. I'm only giving you a chance to explain yourself as to why you shot him before I kill you." I rested my finger on the trigger, my eyes never leaving hers. "I trusted you, you fucking bitch and you nearly killed him. _John_ trusted you. How could you?"

"Let me get out of bed and I will explain everything to you. Can you let me do that?"

I kept my gun trained on her. "Fine."

Slowly, she pulled the covers back and I took a step forward. Before I could react, she was drawing her gun on me. "It seems we're at a stalemate. Lower your weapon."

"You first," I growled. "I'm not putting my weapon down."

"I shot Sherlock. Do you really think I will hesitate to kill you?"

"Do you think that I'll hesitate to take you with me?" I replied. "Even if I die, at least Sherlock and John will be safe from a monster like you."

"I am asking you to let me explain myself. All I want is five minutes."

My eyes narrowed as I stared at her. "And if I don't give it to you?"

"Well then, I guess John is going to come home to a very bloody flat. I will not hesitate to put you down if it means saving myself and the baby."

I let out a huff of breath. "We'll lower our weapons on the count of three. One."

"Two."

"Three," we both said in unison, lowering our guns to point at the floor.

"You have five minutes to explain yourself to me Mary. If that even is your real name."

"It's not," she replied, walking past me to go out into the living room. "I'm not giving you my real name either. I was an operative for the CIA until I decided to go freelance." I heard her accent drop, becoming distinctively American. "I got mixed in with the wrong crowd, took some jobs that could put me in prison for the rest of my life. Well, you know how that is, right?" She sat down on the couch, staring at me. "Charles Magnussen found out all of this information and threatened me with it. I'm guessing that he wanted an assassin to be at his beck and call. I went to his office last night to kill him."

"And you instead tried to kill Sherlock," I said, sitting across from her, keeping my gun in my hand. "Why?"

"He shouldn't have come," Mary said simply. "Once he'd seen my face, I knew I couldn't let him go. But, with John downstairs, if I killed both Sherlock and Magnussen, he would be implicated in the murders. And I couldn't let that happen."

"How did you come up with your new identity?"

"Found a stillborn baby's old tomb. Mary Elizabeth Morstan. After that, it was easy to get the paperwork, set up a new life here in London as a nurse. I didn't want any of this you know. I wanted my past to stay buried in that cemetary. I never wanted to have to pick up the gear or the gun ever again. But, Magnussen threatened it. All of it."

"Why didn't you tell us? Mary, why wouldn't you have told Sherlock? He could have helped. Hell, why didn't you tell me when we went out to lunch yesterday?"

"Because…I couldn't trust that either of you wouldn't tell John. I don't want him finding out. He'd hate me if he knew some of the things that I did. I can't lose him, much like you can't lose Sherlock." Mary touched her lower abdomen, smiling softly. "I am truly sorry that I had to shoot him. But you have to understand, if I had wanted to kill him, I would have."

"Oh, so you only maimed him horribly and hoped and prayed that he would make it. Is that it?" I said through gritted teeth. "I hope you know that I despise you right now. You're a liar. And I can't trust a fucking liar. You were supposed to be my friend. My _best friend._ I viewed you as a sister and then you did this." I raised my gun to point at her once again. "If Sherlock dies, I swear to God, I will kill you. Do you understand that?"

"Understood," Mary said quietly, staring up at me. "I never pictured you as the murdering type though Del."

"Don't call me that. You don't get to call me that."

"Well, here's my own little part of the bargain," Mary murmured and I could see that she had her own gun pointed at my torso. "If you tell John about what I am, I will kill you. Do you understand that?"

"Understood."

"Good. Now, let's go and visit with our favorite consulting detective, shall we?"

* * *

The ride to the hospital was a silent one. Mary and I sat on complete opposite sides of the cab, looking out onto the streets. I had had to keep my temper in check. I was still tempted to reveal to John who the woman really was before I shot her, but I also didn't want to hurt him in the process either. I sighed and I heard Mary turn to look at me.

"When we get there, we have to act as if we're the best of friends. You know that, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of _course_ I know that. I think I can manage it. I mean, I've had both of you fooled for the past month that Sherlock and I ended things."

I saw Mary trying to hide a grin. "So you did. I thought it was a little strange that he would change his mind, but then again, it is Sherlock we're talking about."

"Does John know I'm with you?"

Mary shook her head. "No. And I would rather keep it that way."

"Fine. I'll get in at another entrance to the hospital. John texted me the room number anyway, said Sherlock had even woken up briefly from his drug induced stupor."

"Fine. I'll see you when we get up to the room."

The cab pulled up outside of St. Bart's and I got out, making a beeline for a different entrance. I took the stairs up to Sherlock's room on the fourth floor, finding him in bed, a morphine drip next to him. I sat down, taking his hand.

"I'm back darling. I know you probably can't here me, but-"

"Lila?" I heard Sherlock ask hoarsely.

"Sherlock?"

"Lila…Mary…she…"

"Hush. Hush. I know. I know. I've already confronted her. I will keep you and John safe." I stood up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "You are safe my darling, I promise you."

Sherlock had seemingly drifted off once more and I ran my fingers through his hair. Mary and John soon came up and John seemed startled to see me. "Del. When did you get back?"

"About fifteen minutes ago. Mary! Good morning. I suppose you came to see Sherlock, didn't you?"

"I did. How's he doing?"

"Well, I'd say pretty well, seeing as he's still breathing. I'll give you two some time alone with him." I rose to my feet. "I need some water."

"I'll come with you. We need to fix your hand anyway." John turned to Mary. "Will you be alright with him by yourself for a little bit?"

"Of course."

"Take good care of him," I said softly, giving her a warning glance. "We'll be back shortly."

"I will. I promise."

John and I walked out of the room, John giving me a curious look even as we headed down the hall. "I managed to get some supplies so that we could bind your hand."

"I don't want it bound."

"Why not? Delilah, it's broken. It needs to heal properly."

"I need to be able to use it."

"You can't if it's _broken._ Jesus, stop being so stubborn." I followed him into what looked suspiciously like an employee lounge. "Now, sit down and give me your hand. What time were you leaving at today?"

"Around one. It's what, ten o'clock now?"

"Almost. Let me see."

I sighed, holding out my hand. I watched as John's gaze once again fell on the ring on my finger. "He definitely picked the right ring, didn't he?"

I smiled, looking down at the ring. "Yes, I suppose he did."

"Well, how'd he do it?"

"Hmm?"

"How did he propose?"

"Oh. In the flat. We were dancing. It was after he'd told me about the plan with Janine." I hissed as John bound my fingers together. "Jesus Christ that _hurts_."

"Yes, well, if you would stop punching refrigerators then maybe it wouldn't hurt." John pinned the bandaging together. "So, what are you _really_ going to do at one?"

I looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "I told you already. I-"

"Del. I lived with you for a good amount of time. I can tell when you're lying. What are you going to go and do?"

I sighed. "Do you really want to know?" John stared at me silently. "Fine. I'm going to go and meet with someone who might know who shot Sherlock. Is that alright?"

"I'm going with you."

"No!" I snapped. "You're not. You're going to stay here with Sherlock and keep me updated."

John sighed. "You can't keep me out of this."

"And I'm not trying to. I'll let you know what I find out. But right now, I need someone I can trust to stay with him."

"What about Mary? She could stay."

I knew I'd have to tread carefully here. "Yes, she could. But she's also pregnant. I don't want to put any more stress on her than there needs to be. Please John. I promise you I'll be careful. I'll call you as soon as I'm done, alright?"

John shook his head. "With Sherlock out of it, someone needs to keep you safe."

"Aye. That would be me. You forget, I survived on my own without you boys for a long time. I can do it again for an hour." I examined my hand, smiling. "Thank you John."

"You're welcome. You'd better come back in one piece. I don't want to have to be the one to explain to Sherlock why you're in a hospital bed as well."

I chuckled. "I'll be fine. Now, why don't we-"

There was a knock on the doorway and John and I both turned to see Mycroft standing in the doorway. "Sorry, am I intruding?"

"A bit," I said through gritted teeth. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"What do you think? I'm here to visit my brother and have you banned from seeing him."

I shook my head, laughing. "A bit hard to ban his fiancé, don't you think?"

I watched as Mycroft's face paled. "W-what? What did you say?"

"Oh, did your brother forget to tell you? Sorry, we were going to make the announcement today. Sherlock and I, we're engaged." I pulled back the wrap on my left hand to show Mycroft the ring. "Do you really want to upset him when he wakes by telling him I can't see him?"

Mycroft's eyes never left mine. "Out."

"What? What do you mean out?" John demanded, getting to his feet. "Now wait just a minute, I-"

"I said out. She and I have something that we need to discuss privately. Now get out."

"You can't-"

"Do as he says John," I said quietly. "I'll be fine. I'll say my good-byes when I'm done." John opened his mouth to say something, but I shot him a look. "John. Do as he says."

John left the room, giving me one last backward glance before he headed down the hall. Mycroft locked the door behind him before turning to me, leaning on his umbrella. "So…out of all the people in this world, he chose you."

"Yes."

"And I'm supposed to be your brother-in-law and be happy with that idea?"

"Aye. You should be leaping for joy that he chose me. I'm the best sister-in-law you could have, provided you don't cross me."

Mycroft snorted. "You? Really? You're worthless. Useless. Unintelligent, emotional. A thief."

"Aye. I am a thief. As you, your brother, and everyone else I've come across has pointed out constantly." I stood in front of Mycroft now, glaring at him. "And I suppose I should let you know that I have stolen something else, something very important. Your brother's heart. It's my greatest treasure and I don't plan on losing it. I'm not leaving him. You can get that thought out of your head."

"I am going to make life very difficult for you."

"I know. But, tell me Mycroft, who was it that resuscitated him after a plunge into the Thames? Who was it that leapt into a pool to rescue him?" I lowered my voice. "Who was it that was there for him after he lost the closest damn thing to a brother he had? Who was here as soon as they heard the news and nearly lost their damn mind when the nurse told them that time of death had been called? Oh, that's right. Me. Not you. _Me._ "

Mycroft only stared at me. I could have heard a pin drop in that room with the silence. Finally, Mycroft sighed. "I won't have you banned."

"Thank you."

"And I won't try to make your life difficult. But if you are going to marry my brother, I have a warning to give you." Mycroft turned away, unlocking the door. "Don't hurt him or else I will make you disappear."

With that he left the room and I sunk down into the chair, burying my face in my hands. I was exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally. I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nearly eleven. I sighed.

"One more meeting. One more and then I can go to bed."

* * *

I slowly made my way down the path into the zoo. It was 1:15. I cursed myself for being early. My phone buzzed and I opened the message, sighing heavily.

 _ **Tiger exhibit. Find me. -CAM**_

I began walking, following the signs to the tiger exhibit. I found him standing in front of the glass, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the big cats prowling around the enclosure. I stood there with my arms crossed, glancing around, trying to make sure he'd held up his end of the bargain and left the security at home.

"Fascinating creatures tigers. So ferocious, so graceful. The ultimate predators in my opinion. I've always been fascinated with them. Much like I am fascinated with you Ms. Delilah McKinley."

"So you found out my name. Am I supposed to be impressed?" I stepped up to the glass, looking at the enclosure. "I'm sure you'll do your best to impress me, rattle off facts that anybody could look up on a computer."

Magnussen chuckled. "I see. Yes, I doubted that you would be highly impressed with anything that I could produce on you. I mean, you were a paralegal, your father dead, your sister the leader of a homegrown terrorist organization. But, the thing is, I can give you information on _her_. On what _she_ has been doing for the past four years that you thought her dead. It's what you want, right?"

I refused to turn to look at him, knowing that if I did, he would know that that was exactly what I wanted. "You're wrong."

He stepped up next to me. "Unfortunately, my dear, I know that I'm right. And I have all of the information."

I turned to him. "I don't want it. Keep it. This was a waste of time, coming here to chat with you."

I began to walk away when he said, "Do you remember the Eye the week before your father died? How you both sat at the top together? Do you remember what she said to you up there?"

I froze before turning slowly to look at him. "How do you-?"

"'Delilah, things are going to change dear sister. Change for the better. This time next week, life will be better for us, both of us. Promise me something. Promise me that no matter what, you'll still love me?'" His voice was flat even as he recited what she had said to me. "But you didn't keep your promise, did you? No. Now you hate her, want to kill her. You're not a killer by nature, but she has made you into one. Haven't you ever wondered if that was her goal the entire time?"

"You son of a bitch. Who told you?"

"Nobody told me. I read it, learned it, and now I have it stored away where you'll never find it. Pathetic really how words and sentiments can have such a profound hold over someone." He gave me a smile, but I noted that it never touched his eyes. "I have something that I must take care of. You have my number."

"What do you want? For the information I mean?" I asked even as he began to walk away.

He turned to look at me, adjusting his glasses. "What are you offering?"

I smiled. "How about Mary Elizabeth Morstan?"

He laughed, clapping gleefully. "Now you're talking my language Ms. McKinley. Let's see if we can't make a deal."

* * *

"Sherlock?" I whispered even as I settled in next to his bed. "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

There was no response and I worriedly glanced up at his heart monitor. It said that his heart was beating at a steady sixty beats a minute. I frowned, taking his hand. Everyone had left to go and get supper. John was going to bring me back something, even though I'd insisted that I didn't need anything. My stomach was horribly upset from my lack of sleep, but I needed to stay awake, at least until I'd had a chance to hear Sherlock's voice.

"Sherlock, I know you're sleeping. I wanted to tell you…to tell you that I love you. I know I've said it a hundred times to you today, but I need you to know how much you mean to me." I took the necklace off from around my neck. "You know…I always kept this ring safe. No matter what, I've kept it on me at all times. Even when I was out in the freezing cold, starving and afraid, I never once considered selling this ring. And now I know why."

I got up from the right side of the bed, going to the other side. I took the ring off of the chain before taking his hand off of the bed. I ignored the flare up of pain as I slid my father's old wedding band onto Sherlock's ring finger, surprised to see that it was a perfect fit. I smiled, gently putting his hand down on the mattress.

"I should have known that it would fit you. Why wouldn't it?" I watched as his eyelids fluttered. "This is my gift to you, the ring of the greatest man I've ever known. Now it's on the finger of the greatest man I've ever loved. I love you."

"I…love you…too…" he croaked out, his eyes fluttering open to look at me.

I began to cry as I leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Sherlock…oh Sherlock, I was so scared."

"I know," he whispered.

"Did you hear what I said?"

He nodded, grimacing as he turned to look at me. "Yes."

"And?"

"As soon as I'm out of here, we'll begin planning a wedding."

I smiled. "Alright."

"Lila?"

"Hmmm?" I brushed the hair from his forehead.

"Lay with me?" He moved himself over on the bed, gasping from the pain. I frowned.

"I'll get in trouble, Sherlock."

"No you won't. Lay with me. I want my future wife in my arms."

I managed to situate myself next to him, careful not to pinch any of the tubes and wires coming off of him. "Comfortable?"

His fingers intertwined with mine and he turned his head to look at me. "Very."

"Good," I murmured, giving him a kiss. "Now go to sleep."

That's how we both drifted off to sleep, our fingers intertwined, finally sharing the same bed for the first time in a month.


	16. Chapter 16: The Truth Will Set You Free

***Hello lovelies! Here's the next chapter! Again, big thank you to Ariane DeVere for her amazing transcripts. She has done a fantastic job. A few things before you start reading. First off, this is a bit out of order from the episodes (the fight scene doesn't _actually_ happen in the show until Christmas) so don't be confused by the change of order. Secondly, the mind palace that I created for Delilah is actually the one that I use for myself. Mine's a bit more expansive, but since Delilah just created hers, I started with the library that I use as the starting point in mine. Thirdly, there are probably only going to be two more chapters of this. Then I will be starting  Freeing Her Soul, the sequel to Stealing His Heart. I hope everyone has been enjoying the story so far and continues to enjoy it. Talk to you soon!**

* * *

 **Chapter 16: The Truth Will Set You Free**

It had been five days since Sherlock had been shot. I'd spent nearly every waking minute at the hospital. I only left to go home and change and shower. And that was if Mrs. Hudson, John, or Molly was up there. Other than that, I refused to leave. I smiled at Sherlock even as he looked out the window.

"You alright?"

"Fine." He looked at me. "Have you eaten?"

"What? Yeah, of course I have."

"Liar," he said, giving me a small smile. "You've lost nearly half a stone. Go and get something to eat."

"I'm fine," I said. "Really."

"Don't make me have John come up here to force you to eat."

I sighed. "Fine. I will go and get something to eat. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"A cigarette would be nice."

I laughed. "How about something that isn't going to get me thrown out?"

He gave me a small smile. "Don't want to join the dark side?"

"Been there, done that darling." I pressed a kiss to his cheek before getting up from my chair. "I'll be back in a bit. Stay out of trouble."

"Always."

I chuckled even as I walked out of the room. I headed down to the cafeteria, trying to picture their menu in my mind. I bumped into someone, stumbling back. I opened my mouth to apologize before I realized who it was.

"Mycroft. What are you doing here?"

"I came to get you to have lunch." He held up a bag. "Sherlock asked me to bring it to you."

"What is it?" I asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

Mycroft sighed. "It's not poison if that's what you're thinking. I wouldn't dream of poisoning you. It's fish and chips from that shop that you like."

I smiled. "Thank you Mycroft. Were you going to bring me these and leave?"

"Well, I did hope to see my brother for a bit."

"I'll take you up to him. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Do you promise to leave us be after you take me up to him?"

"Yes Mycroft. I will let you have a bit of bonding time." Mycroft still carried the bag with him even as we headed for the elevators. "You haven't been by to see him since the first day."

"Sorry, been a bit busy saving Britain," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Some of us can't afford to spend our free time at a hospital day and night."

"Don't be jealous dear. It doesn't look good on you," I replied, staring straight ahead at the doors of the elevator.

Mycroft glanced down at me. "So, have you seen the newspaper headlines yet?"

I shot him a sideways glance. "What newspaper headlines?"

"The ones where _Janine_ is claiming that she's engaged to Sherlock."

"Sh-she…she what?"

"I must say, if I have to choose between you and her to be his fiancé, I would much rather it be you. At least you're not a money-grubbing whore."

"She's using their fake engagement to get money? Are you joking me?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I believe one of the headlines stated something along the lines of seven times a night in Baker Street. Tell me, is my brother really that proficient a lover?"

I gritted my teeth. "Not with her he isn't. That fucking _bitch!"_

We stepped out of the elevator and I noted that the door to Sherlock's room was mostly closed. Which was strange as I had it open before I'd left. So who had come in there?

I knew who it was as soon as I heard her voice. "Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard."

"And you, as it turns out, are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore."

"So we're good then!"

"No we are not!" I snarled, stepping into the room, Mycroft following behind me, closing the door. "You fucking cunt! How dare you exploit him for your own personal gain!"

"Oooh a wee bit testy are we? What, mad because he wanted someone better than you? Don't want to be his maid anymore?"

"A wee bit- are you fucking serious right now?!" I shouted. "A wee bit _testy?_ I'll show you testy you disgusting-!"

I lunged for her, fist flying, connecting with her stomach. She doubled over and I was bringing my knee up into her face. Even as she dropped to her knees, I brought my foot up into her chest, knocking her backwards into the wall. I began to walk towards her, fist pulled back to land another blow, when Mycroft grabbed my arm. "Enough Delilah."

I looked at the woman leaned dazedly up against the wall, lip bleeding. She shook herself, staring up at me. "I'm going to have you put in jail."

"No you're not." Mycroft said calmly, going to stand between myself and Janine. "And do you know why?" Janine looked at him angrily, touching her upper lip with her fingers. "Because I will have so much evidence of treason and domestic terrorism put onto your hard drives that you'll be locked away in solitary confinement for years to come until your execution. And nothing you do will help you." Mycroft gave her that same wolfish grin he had given me when we'd had our meeting. "Now, you can finish your conversation with Sherlock while Delilah and I have lunch in that corner by the window or you can get up and leave. But if I so much as hear a whisper that you are going to the police, I will make your life hell."

I glanced at Sherlock, seeing the look of surprise on his face, eyes wide. I heard Janine getting up from the floor. "You'll pay for this. Both of you."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," Mycroft voice was soft even as he watched her heading for the door. I glared at her. "Good-bye for good Janine."

She opened the door before turning to look at Sherlock. "Just one thing. You shouldn't have lied to me. I know what kind of man you are…but we could have been friends."

"Only in your wildest dreams bitch," I said, going to stand at the foot of Sherlock's bed, blocking her view of him. "I'm the one with the real ring, not you. Enjoy your cubic zirconia ring _we_ picked out for you. It cost all of ten pound. Surprised it hasn't turned your finger green yet." To prove my point, I raised my left hand, revealing the ring that Sherlock bought me. "Now get out and don't come back."

Janine left, swishing down the hall. I could see the nurses and other patients staring at her bloody lip, but they said nothing. I closed the door all the way, turning to Sherlock. "Sorry you had to see that luv. I was…well…a bit upset to be honest."

"Never thought I'd see the day where you and my _brother_ would work together."

"Neither did I," Mycroft grumbled. I realized he still had the bag of fish and chips in his hand. I took it from him, going to sit in the corner. "We were going to have a private conversation, remember Delilah?"

"And you can. I'll be sitting in the corner with my head phones in. Won't hear a bit of the conversation you two have."

To prove my point, I sat down, plugging my headphones into my phone. I turned the music on before I took my food out. I could tell by Mycroft's posture that he was irritated and I could, even with my music on, hear his sigh. I chuckled, opening the take-out box and eating what Mycroft had brought me. It didn't have the extra salt like I liked, but that was alright. I was still perfectly content.

I glanced out the window, catching the figure of Janine walking across the parking lot. It was like watching a bad dream finally fade after a long time of having nightmares. I continued to watch people pass by underneath, eating as I observed, trying to do what Sherlock did. He'd been teaching me in-between doses of his morphine, how to see everything instead of just the basics. It had kept him from getting bored and I was enjoying learning.

My eyelids were beginning to droop when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whirled to see Mycroft standing next to me. I yanked one of the headphones out. "Come again?"

"I said, Sherlock and I are done having our conversation if you would like to go back to him."

I nodded, getting up from the table and stretching. "Aye, I will. I believe John and Lestrade were coming by later to relieve me so I could go and take a shower."

Mycroft nodded. "If you should be bothered by that woman again or should the police come questioning, give me a ring." He began to exit before poking his head back through the door. "Oh, and consider my keeping you out of jail your engagement gift from me."

I gave him a small smile. "It was a most wonderful present. Very…therapeutic."

Mycroft closed the door, but I could swear that I saw a very faint smile on his lips as he did. I turned to Sherlock. "Look, I'm sorry about hurting Janine. But seeing her in here with you alone, it-"

"It's fine. She cut my morphine off anyway." He patted the edge of the bed. "Come sit. I want to speak with you."

"About what?" I asked, going and sitting next to him. He took my broken hand in his, running his fingers over the bandaging. "Sherlock, about what?"

"How do you feel about dogs?"

"I like them well enough. They're good companions to have around. Loyal. Intelligent." I saw him raise an eyebrow. "Depending on the breed."

"True. And how do you feel about Irish setters?"

"Beautiful dogs. My Sampson was an Irish setter. Got him when I was about seven. We had to put him down due to health issues. Broke my heart."

Sherlock smiled. "Well, that's another similarity for us then. I had a dog named RedBeard growing up, an Irish setter. I was thinking…maybe once I'm out of here we could go and find one."

My eyes widened in surprise and I let out a squeal of glee. "Really?! We can get a dog?"

"Yes, really. I was thinking about it and…well, maybe having a companion for you at the flat when I'm away on business wouldn't be such a bad idea."

"Or for you when I'm teaching classes and working at the clinic. We'll have to clear it with Mrs. Hudson though."

"She won't mind, so long as we take care of it."

"This is fantastic! Oh, Sherlock, I'm so excited. I can't wait!" I felt like a kid at Christmas. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"

"A girl. They're more protective. And I've already had a male dog, as have you. Well, it's settled then. Delilah, why don't you go back to the flat, maybe look at some dog breeders, take a nap? You look tired."

"I'm fine Sherlock," I said, trying to stifle a yawn.

"You're exhausted. You've been here since I was found. You need to take a break. I promise you, I'll be fine."

"But what about Ma- what about the person who shot you? What if they come back?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at me. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing. Nothing. You're right, I must be exhausted. I'll go and call a cab." I leaned down, giving him a kiss. He reached up with his left hand, cupping the back of my neck. I felt the cold metal of his ring brush against my bare skin and I smiled against his lips. "You'd better keep out of trouble Sherlock. I mean it. John and Lestrade should swing by this evening. I'll be back whenever I wake up."

"Get some sleep in our bed please. You need the rest."

"Yes sir." I got up from the bed, giving him a mock salute before smiling. "I mean it Sherlock. You'd better keep out of trouble."

"What am I going to do? Go gallivanting around London with a bullet wound in my torso?"

"Knowing you? Probably." I opened the door, glancing out into the hallway before turning back to him. "I love you Sherlock."

"I love you too. Now go and sleep. I'll see you soon."

I left the hospital, flagging down a taxi. I took it back to the flat, finding Mrs. Hudson upstairs in the living room. "Oh! I'm sorry dear, I didn't realize you were coming home. I was doing a bit of cleaning to help you out."

"It's fine Mrs. Hudson. You own the place." I gave her a smile, gently taking the furniture polish from her hands. "How have you been? I feel like I haven't spoken to you in so long."

"I've been doing well. How's Sherlock?"

"Awake and talking, perhaps more than he should." I watched as she picked up a copy of the bridal magazine I'd bought the other day. She began flipping through the pages. "See anything you like in there?"

"A few things. Oh, if only I were your age and could marry a good man like John or Sherlock." She looked up at me with a smile. "Should I go ahead and pitch it dear? I'm sure it's left over from Mary and John's wedding. With Sherlock dating that other woman, I'm sure you don't-" She froze when I raised up my left hand, tugging the bandaging down to reveal my finger. "Is that-?"

I nodded and I watched as her eyes widened. "Oh dear. Oh dear, I need to sit down."

I grabbed her elbow, helping her into Sherlock's chair, kneeling in front of her. "Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Who…who gave you that? It wasn't-" I gave her a knowing smile and she gasped, resting a hand on her chest. "Oh my goodness! You and Sherlock! Oh my! But I thought-"

"Part of a case Mrs. Hudson," I said softly, patting her knee. "I'm going to go and make us some tea. You stay right there, calm your nerves."

She laughed. "Oh I'm a right mess at the moment, aren't I?"

"It's fine. I thought you already knew and that's what you were coming up here for," I called over my shoulder even as I grabbed the kettle, filling it with water. "I thought Sherlock had told you when you'd gone to see him the other day."

"No. He mentioned something about possibly getting a puppy, but he never mentioned anything about getting engaged. When did he do it? How did he do it? You must be so excited!"

"I am," I replied, turning to find Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway. "I'm very excited. Sherlock and I haven't done much planning, not until the case is finished. I've been looking at gowns, but that's about the extent of it. We've been engaged, oh, I don't know, a little over a month now? And he did it over dinner."

Mrs. Hudson was grinning from ear to ear even as I took the kettle off. "You two will make a lovely couple. Will you still live here?"

"I'm sure we will. At least until we plan on having little ones." Her eyes widened. "Oh no, no worries. I'm not expecting or anything, so you don't have to think about having little babies in the flat any time soon."

"I wouldn't mind a baby. I adore children. Wish I could have had some of my own. But I'm so happy for you two. You make a lovely pair."

I smiled, handing her her cup of tea. "Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I was…well, I think Sherlock and I were both sort of hoping for your blessing. I'm glad to hear that you approve."

"Well of course I do! I approved when you two were kissing under the mistletoe. Why wouldn't I approve of this?"

I laughed. "You're right. Oh! We've decided on the kind of dog we're going to get. I figured that I would run it by you first."

"It's not a Rottweiler, is it?"

"No, it's not," I said with a chuckle. "It's an Irish setter. I adore the dog breed and Sherlock had one as a child as well, so I'm guessing that he is quite fond of them too. We'll be picking it up after he gets out of the hospital. Hopefully that won't be too long."

I glanced down at my phone, having felt it vibrate in my pocket. I read the message quickly before snapping it shut. "Mrs. Hudson, I believe I'm going to take a shower. I haven't had one in a couple of days. Then I think that I'll get a short nap."

"Oh of course dear! I'll be next door at the sandwich shop. Call me if you need anything!"

"I will Mrs. Hudson. Talk to you soon." I watched as she left, going down the stairs to her flat. I heard the front door open and Sherlock climbed his way slowly up to the flat. I ushered him in, forcing him to sit down in his chair. "What in God's name are you doing here? And don't even try to tell me that you were released. I know that that's a lie."

"I need your help."

"You need a good smack in the back of your head for your foolishness is what you need."

"I know you know about Mary."

I froze before cursing myself softly. "Of course you do. Damn my brain for not thinking about what I was saying."

"Lila, I need you to help me. She made me swear not to tell John, but I can't let him be with her. She's too dangerous for him." Sherlock took a deep breath and I could tell that he was in a substantial amount of pain. "I've already set up a meeting place for this evening, after John and Lestrade discover I'm gone. I need you to act a little bit longer, don't let on that you know where I'm going. If you haven't…" I watched as he grimaced in pain. "If you haven't heard from me by three o'clock this morning, come find me."

"Sherlock, I'm coming with you!"

"No! You're not going to be put into harm's way."

"A little late for that," I muttered. "I confronted Mary when I figured it out."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. "And how did you figure that out?"

"I put two and two together. We went out after you and John left. I mentioned Magnussen and she seemed a bit…off at the mention of his name. I also told her that he had a meeting. And who was held hostage before he could make it to his meeting? Magnussen. And who had told me that she had a _meeting_ that she needed to attend at the same time that Magnussen's was? Mary. I'm assuming that she-"

"Went over there to negotiate for whatever information that Magnussen may have on her and when he refused, she beat him, tied him up, held him hostage. I interrupted and-"

"She shot you," I said darkly, feeling the bile of anger rising up in my throat. "I warned her, if she tried to hurt you again I would kill her."

"No." Sherlock took my hand and I could tell he was in a lot of pain. "You're not going to turn into a killer, especially not for me."

"Sherlock, she hurt you. You nearly died. Do you really think that I'm going to just…let that slide?"

"There are worse things you can do to a person than killing them Lila. Now, I need your help. John's chair, I need you to get it for me and bring it up here. Also, put this on the table." He produced a bottle of perfume from his pocket and I wrinkled my nose. "It's _her_ perfume. He'll recognize it almost immediately."

I nodded. "Is there anything else?"

"No. I'll text you the address where I'm hiding out. Again, three o'clock, if you don't hear from me come get me."

"Fine." I let out a long sigh. "What did I tell you about staying out of trouble?"

He gave me a small smile. "You love it."

"I love you, not your troublemaking ways."

He gave me a soft kiss. "I'll be fine. I'll see you later. Like I said, act surprised when they call you."

I rolled my eyes. "You owe me Sherlock."

"I know. I'll be going now."

"Be careful please," I murmured, watching as he headed down the stairs.

I waited until he'd left before I went downstairs to where we kept our storage. I found John's chair underneath all of the Christmas decorations. I dragged it up the stairs, putting it back where it had been when I'd first moved in. I set the perfume on the table before laying down on the couch, closing my eyes. Once this was all over, I was going to sleep for a week.

* * *

I felt my phone vibrating on my chest and I groaned. I hit the answer button. "Hello?"

"Delilah?"

"Greg. Hi. How're you doing?"

"Not good. Not good at all. John asked me to call you as he's busy getting in contact with Mary and Mycroft."

"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to make myself worried. "Has something happened?"

"Well, Sherlock…he's…he's gone."

"What do you mean he's _gone?_ Y-y-you mean he's…he's dead?"

"What? No! Oh God no! Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't think…no, he's gone from the hospital and nobody knows where he went. Has he tried to contact you?"

"Erm, no. I…I don't think so. I fell asleep. I'll be right out to help you all look. He shouldn't be out of bed."

"It's fine. You don't need to help us. John will probably be back at the flat soon anyway. We're trying to find out if anyone knows where he might have gone." There was a pause before Greg said, "Are you sure you haven't heard anything from him? I mean, you are his fiancé after all."

I sighed. "Greg, every time someone shows up unexpectedly or disappears you always ask me if I've seen them. No. I haven't seen Sherlock. Please…you have to find him before he gets hurt."

"Will do. I'll keep you posted. And, er, sorry about always accusing you. You just…seem to know more than you let on sometimes."

"Go. Look for him. Let me know what you find."

My phone buzzed as soon as I ended the call. I opened the message, seeing that it was from Sherlock.

 _ **The empty house. –SH**_

 _ **Fine. Are you feeling alright? That's not a good area for you to be in by yourself. Aren't you worried that Mary might hurt you? –DM**_

 _ **Me? Worried? Haha. You must be thinking of someone else. I'm fine. Stop worrying. –SH**_

 _ **That's part of the job description of a fiancé. Sherlock…come home. We can tell John together. She can't take on both of us. –DM**_

 _ **He won't believe us. I have to get her to say it. I will be fine. –SH**_

 _ **If you say so. You are in huge trouble when this is all over. –DM**_

 _ **I know. –SH**_

I shook my head at the messages. He was absolutely impossible. But I supposed that he knew his body better than anyone else. I decided that while I waited I would practice going to my own mind palace. Sherlock had been teaching me that as well, telling me that it would help with cases and that he thought I would be able to better handle it than John. He'd told me that he'd tried with John and it just hadn't worked.

I sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room, closing my eyes, visualizing the space that I'd chosen. When I'd visited my grandparents in the summer, I'd tended to stay in their library for most of the time. It was a peaceful place, with two long windows on the wall opposite when you walked in. On either side were bookcases, floor to ceiling, filled with books. A table had sat in the middle of the room, covered in puzzles that my grandparents enjoyed working on. I'd managed to get it to the point where I could access the library in my mind quickly and easily. Now it was a matter of filling the empty shelves with books.

' _Start simple,' Sherlock said, laying in the hospital bed. 'You haven't been doing this as long as I have. Choose one room that you know well. Try accessing the room over and over. Always start in the same place and work your way out from there. I doubt you'll be able to become as proficient as I am, but I have no doubt you can do it.'_

I smiled. I was determined to become as proficient as Sherlock. That was the entire goal.

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in that library. I walked to the shelf on the left, looking at the dozen or so books sitting on the shelves at the very top. I grabbed the ladder, wheeling it over to climb up. On the spines of the books were the titles, hand-written on a piece of tape.

"Birthdays, no. Childhood memories, definitely not. Time on the streets, not something I want to examine today." My finger rested against the spine of a fat black book and I tapped it. "There it is. Dreams."

I took it off of the shelf, climbing down the ladder with ease. I set the book on the table, flipping through it, looking for the last entry I'd written in. I fully opened it, watching as the dream popped up on the table like a 3-D projection. I inspected it, seeing the playground of my childhood, Olivia sitting on the swings, me standing in front of her. I could see that we were talking, but I couldn't make out the words.

' _Focus. What would you need to do that?'_

"Volume controls," I murmured. "Thanks Sherlock."

I looked down to see that dial for volume had appeared below the book. I turned it up, wincing as I heard Olivia's voice.

"But let me fill you in one what's going to happen before I kill you," she said.

I watched as I drew my weapon, pointing it at her. "You mean before I kill you. I don't care if I die, so long as I take you with me."

' _Did I really say that?'_ I thought to myself even as I watched ten dots appear on my chest. _'Was I really going to kill her?'_

"Oh, so predictable. Will you put the gun down so we can at least discuss things under less hostile circumstances?"

' _No,'_ I thought to myself, watching in horror as I lowered the gun. _'If only you knew that death was better than what you'd go through by lowering that weapon.'_

"Fine. Since you're going to kill me anyway, I may as well hear what you have to say."

 _ **Vaguely, in the distance, I could hear the front door open. The part of my mind that I kept in the flat willed the person away, not wanting to be disturbed.**_

"Good! Because I can promise you, things are going to get much more interesting here in London town. We'll start with burning you. And then my boyfriend has something very special in store for yours."

 _ **I could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs now and I cursed them. I needed to know. I had to.**_

I looked around the table, trying to find something, _anything_ , to speed up the memory. I knew that the answer was there in that dream. I was beginning to grow panicked. I had to know.

' _Calm down,'_ Sherlock's voice echoed around me. _'You're of no use to anyone when you're not calm. What is it that you want?'_

"Fast-forward," I whispered, glancing down to see that a large fast-forward button had appeared beside the volume control. "Perfect."

I turned the dial forward, watching as the image in front of me sped up. I slowed it down when I watched her approach me. "Are you sure that you want to know?"

Both projection-me and real me nodded. She leaned down to my ear and I held my breath even as I heard someone approaching me. Their hand touched my shoulder and I was jerked back to reality.

"James Moriarty," I whispered even as I opened my eyes.

"I'm sorry, come again?" John asked and I could see the worry in his eyes.

"Nothing. Nothing. Was just…meditating. Trying to keep calm with Sherlock being missing. Have you got any leads yet?" I asked, getting to my feet.

"Nothing," John said, beginning to pace the living room. I saw Greg and Mrs. Hudson standing in the kitchen. "He knew who shot him. The bullet wound was here," John pointed to his lower chest, "so he was facing whoever it was."

I went to sit on the couch, watching as John paced. I pulled my phone out, typing quickly.

 _ **John's here. –DM**_

 _ **Good. Let me know when he begins to figure it out. And before you ask, yes, I'm still alright. –SH**_

"Protecting the shooter? Why?" I heard Greg ask as I looked up.

"Well, protecting someone then. But why would he care? He's Sherlock. The only person he would bother protecting is Del and she was too shocked by him being shot to even remotely be the shooter." I watched as he sat down in his armchair. He seemed to do a double-take before frowning, patting the arms.

 _ **He has sat in his chair. –DM**_

"Call me if you hear anything. Don't hold out on me, John," Greg said. "Call me, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, right."

 _ **Has he figured it out yet? –SH**_

 _ **No. –DM**_

"Bye then," Mrs. Hudson said to Greg as he left before turning to us. "John? Delilah? Need a cuppa?"

"Mrs. Hudson," John began, turning to the landlady. "Wh-why does Sherlock think that I'll be moving back in here?"

"Oh, yes, he's put your chair back again, hasn't he?"

John looked up at me. "Do _you_ know anything about it?"

"Nope. I was sleeping."

"Huh."

"That's nice!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, walking back with the kettle. "Looks much better."

I followed John's gaze, observing that it had fallen on the small crescent moon bottle sitting on the table. I quickly typed, _**He has seen the bottle. –DM**_

Almost immediately after I'd sent the message, John's phone began to buzz.

"That's your phone, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson asked, going to pick up the phone from the dining table. "It's Sherlock, John. It's Sherlock."

She walked back to John, holding it out to him. I watched as John's gaze turned towards the window before he turned his head back to the bottle.

"John! You have to answer it!"

 _ **Tell him to answer the phone. –SH**_

"John," I said softly, getting up from my place on the couch, taking the phone from Mrs. Hudson. "Answer the phone. Answer the phone and you'll get your explanation."

He looked up at me and I could see the pain in his eyes. John shakily took the phone from my hands. "You knew."

I nodded. "I did. Let him explain John. I know it hurts, but let him explain."

John answered the phone and I went upstairs, grabbing my gun and holster, throwing a jacket on over my shoulders. I knew that the night was only beginning and that things were about to get a whole lot worse before they got better.

* * *

I stood next to Sherlock, glancing at him worriedly. He was pale and sweating. I could tell that he was in an excruciating amount of pain, even if he didn't let on. I could see her across the street, walking past Bill. I'd been introduced quickly when I'd taken John down to the empty houses to set everything up. He and I had recognized each other from our time on the streets, but I said nothing and neither did he. I watched as Mary grabbed the earpiece from Bill.

" _Where are you?"_ I heard her ask on the other end of the line as I leaned in close to hear.

"Can't you see me?" Sherlock asked and I could see the small smile on his lips.

" _Well, what am I looking for?"_

"The lie, the lie of Leinster Gardens, hidden in plain sight." My grip tightened on my pistol as she stepped a few feet into the road. "Hardly anyone notices. People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I think you are, it'll take you less than a minute." She continued to walk down the road slowly. "The houses, Mary. Look at the houses."

" _How did you know I'd come here?"_

"I knew you'd talk to the people no one else would bother with."

I heard her laugh and I had to clamp down on my tongue to keep from saying anything. _"I thought I was being clever."_

"You're always clever, Mary. I was relying on that. I planted the information for you to find." Sherlock began to sag and I positioned myself underneath his arm, keeping him steady. He looked down at me, giving me a smile. "Thirty seconds."

 _"What am I looking at?"_

"No door knobs, no letter box, painted windows. Twenty-three and twenty-four Leinster Gardens…the empty houses." I watched as she stood in front of the house, looking around. "They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains. It's just a façade." He took in a deep breath and I could see the pain in his face even as I tried to hold him up. "Remind you of anyone, Mary? A façade. Sorry. I never could resist a touch of drama."

I looked at her wedding picture projected on the front of the house. I had to fight back a snarl of rage at her image. Now was the time to see if she would fall for the trap. I held my breath, watching as she began to walk slowly towards the houses.

"Do come in. It's a little cramped."

 _"Do you own this place?"_

"Mmm. I won it in a card game with the Clarence House Cannibal. Nearly cost me my kidneys, but fortunately I had a…" he began to sag again and I rubbed his back, forcing him to take a deep breath. "A straight flush. Quite a gambler, that woman."

I watched as Mary walked inside. I knew the layout of the house. She'd be in the long corridor, no doubt seeing the shape sitting on a chair. I closed my eyes, sending a silent prayer up even as I helped Sherlock stand.

 _"What do you want, Sherlock?"_

I looked up at him, seeing that determined look come into his eye. "Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where, five years ago, you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity." I could picture her in my mind walking slowly along the corridor towards the figure in the chair. "That's why you don't have friends from before that date." Sherlock paused, catching his breath. "It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognize a skip-code on sight and have extraordinarily retentive memories."

 _"You were very slow."_

"How good a shot are you?" He asked and I heard her cock the pistol.

 _"How badly do you want to find out?"_

"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Delilah will know what the means immediately and will come after you with everything that she has. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that."

We began to move slowly towards the house, keeping low to the ground. I helped Sherlock the best I could. "I want to know how good you are. Go on. Show me. The doctor's wife must be a little bored by now."

We were through the front door and I watched as she took a coin from her purse. She tossed the coin into the air, took aim, and I heard the distinct sound of a gunshot and of metal striking metal. Sherlock straightened himself up even as we looked at Mary. "May I see?"

I raised my gun as I stood behind Sherlock, aiming it at her as she laughed quietly. "It's a dummy. I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick." She walked towards us a few paces before putting her foot against the coin, sending it sliding across the floor.

Sherlock bent down before I could, picking up the coin. I could hear the pain in his voice. "And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot." I stepped up next to him in case he should need to lean on me, keeping the gun trained on Mary. "Enough to hospitalize me, not enough to kill me. That wasn't a miss." Sherlock paused, placing one hand on my shoulder to steady himself and I watched as he gave her a small smile. "That was surgery."

Mary looked up at us, glancing between the two of us before looking down at the floor again. Sherlock took a deep breath. "I'll take the case."

"What case?" She asked.

"Yours." I could hear the anger in his voice. "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever. And Sherlock, I will never let that happen."

Sherlock turned to walk away and I watched as she took a step forward. "Mary, if you take one more step I will shoot you."

"Del. I thought that was you."

"Who else would it be protecting him from you you lying bitch?"

"Please," Mary said and I heard Sherlock turn back to her. "Please understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."

"Sorry," Sherlock said, turning away once more, going to the fuse box. "Not that obvious a trick." He flipped the switch on and I blinked rapidly, trying to get my eyes to adjust. I watched as her face filled with dread and I could see behind her as John got out of the chair, fixing his coat. She gasped at the sight of her husband and for a split second I felt guilty.

"Now talk, and sort it out. Do it quickly," Sherlock said and I lowered my gun, knowing that she wouldn't try anything now that John was there. Neither of them moved and Sherlock sighed. "Baker Street. _Now."_

I helped Sherlock out of the house, dialing the number for a cab, giving them the address. We stood out on the curb, waiting patiently. I glanced up at him. "You look like hell."

"I feel like it," he admitted. "I wonder how things are going in there."

"Well, I haven't heard any gunshots. Do you want me to disarm her when she gets out here?"

"It's not her I'm worried about." Sherlock let out a hiss of breath and I grabbed him around the waist, helping him sit on the curb. "Damn that woman."

"I know. I'm sorry. Let me look."

"I'm fine. Just need to sit for a bit. When is that cab going to be here?"

"Five minutes at most. They had a driver right around the corner."

"Good. Good. I need some morphine. Wouldn't have any would you?"

"Left it in my other purse," I said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze with my left despite the pain. I'd taken all of the bandaging off, having grown irritated with it. "You need to go back to the hospital."

"Not yet. I need to make sure that those two aren't going to kill each other."

I sighed. "You're stubborn."

"So are you."

I saw him smiling down at me and I gave him a smile in return. "Trying to charm me into not being upset with you I see."

"Is it working?"

"Maybe," I said, giving him a quick peck. "Or maybe I'm saving my lecture for a later date."

"Well, let's hope it's working then."

I watched as headlights rounded the corner. I got up from the curb. "I'm going to go and get them. Stay here."

"As if I'd be able to go anywhere else."

"Come on you two. Cab's here. Back to the flat." I watched as John pushed past Mary, giving her a look of disgust as he walked past. Mary was crying and again I felt a wave of guilt. She stopped in front of me.

"I hope you're happy with what you two have done."

* * *

We arrived back at the flat and I helped Sherlock up the stairs. He was barely holding it together and I was growing worried. I knew he needed to go back to the hospital as soon as possible, but he had insisted that he didn't need any help. I could hear Mrs. Hudson upstairs even as John and Mary entered the flat. Sherlock leaned himself up against the bannister as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Fine. Call an ambulance in fifteen minutes. It takes about eight for them to get anywhere in this city. That should be enough time for them to have their row."

"Oh, Sherlock! Delilah! Oh, good gracious, you look terrible."

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen. I've run out."

"I don't have any morphine!"

"Then what exactly is the point of you?" Sherlock said angrily and I wrapped his arm around my shoulders, trying to get him to put his weight on me.

"What is going on?" Mrs. Hudson asked, looking around at everyone.

"Bloody good question," John growled from the kitchen.

"The Watsons are about to have a domestic and fairly quickly, I hope, because we've got work to do."

"Oh, I have a better question," John said, pacing towards Mary. "Is _everyone_ I've ever met a psychopath?"

"Yes," I said instantly.

Sherlock's eyes lifted to the ceiling before he said, "Yes."

Mary gave a tiny nod in agreement and Sherlock nodded. "Good that we've settled that. Anyway, we-"

John whirled on Sherlock and I. "SHUT UP!"

I jumped back at John's shout, leaving Sherlock to stand on his own. Mrs. Hudson put one hand to her mouth at John's shout. "Oh!"

"And stay shut up, because this is not funny." I watched as he gave Sherlock an angry smile. "Not this time.

"I didn't say it was funny," Sherlock replied and I went to help him stand once more.

"You," John said, turning to face Mary. "What have I ever done…hmmm? My whole life, to deserve you?"

Sherlock leaned against the door post and I glanced up at him worriedly. "Everything."

John turned to look at Sherlock. "Sherlock, I've told you. Shut. Up."

"Oh, I mean it, seriously. Everything, everything you've ever done is what you did." John began to cross to Sherlock and I put myself in between them.

"John. Get control of yourself," I snapped.

"You shut up too! You knew as much as he did. Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine."

"You were a doctor who went to war." John fixed his eyes on Sherlock even as I continued to stand between them. "You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high." Sherlock raised a hand and waved at John. "That's me by the way. Hello. That same best friend has a fiancé who is a top-notch thief with a fiery temper and is a bit overprotective when it comes to her future husband. Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."

"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing," Mrs. Hudson protested.

"And exotic dancing." I fought back a giggle.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you've been YouTube-ing-"

"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people, so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"

I could see the tears in John's eyes even as he pointed at Mary. "But she wasn't supposed to _be_ like that. Why is she like that?"

"Because you chose her," Sherlock answered.

I watched as John's world crumbled in that very moment. I wanted to give him a hug. He didn't deserve any of this at all. I moved forward to give him an embrace when Sherlock grabbed my hand, shaking his head. I sighed.

"Why is everything," he walked around the living room and I could see the fury in his eyes, "always MY FAULT?!"

John kicked the small table, sending it skidding across the floor. I let out a yelp of surprise and Sherlock even jumped a little at John's outburst.

"Oh, the neighbors!" Mrs. Hudson cried, hurrying away.

I looked up at Sherlock who leaned down to whisper. "Call them. Ask them to bring morphine. Tell them that there has been a shooting."

I nodded, walking down the hallway, pulling my phone out of my pocket, dialing 999 quickly. I explained to the operator what was going on even as I heard them moving around in the living room. I hung up the phone, returning to the living room to find everyone sitting and staring.

"A.G.R.A. What's that?"

Mary glanced at John before clearing her throat. "Er…my initials. Everything about who I was on there." Mary looked at John and I could see the pain on her face. "If you love me, don't read it in front of me."

"Why?" John asked.

"Because you won't love me when you've finished…and I don't want to see that happen." She turned to Sherlock. "How much do you know already? How much has _she_ told you?"

"Not a damn thing," I said. "And you'd do well to watch your tone with me. While they may be listening to you, I already know what you are."

Sherlock cleared his throat, glancing back at me. "By your skill set, you are, or were, an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English, but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something. You've used your skills to disappear, but Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him. I assume you befriended Janine," Sherlock grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "in order to get close to him."

"Oh, _you_ can talk!" Sherlock gave her a small smile.

"Ohhh, look at you two." John pointed his finger between both of them. "You should have gotten married. I think I'd rather have Del anyway, seeing as I know when _she's_ lying."

Mary looked at John in shock and Sherlock blinked a couple of times. I stared at John, shaking my head before going to kneel next to Sherlock.

"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life."

"Wouldn't be such a bad place for someone like you," I muttered under my breath.

"So you were just going to kill him," John said, shaking his head.

"People like Magnussen should be killed. Just like people like Olivia should be killed. That's why there are people like me."

"Perfect!" John exclaimed, gently punching the arm of his chair. "So that's what you were? An assassin?" He turned to look ta Sherlock and I. "How could I not see that?"

"You did see that," Mary replied and I watched as that murderous smile reappeared on his face. "And you married me. Because he's right. It's what you like."

Sherlock gave my hand a gentle squeeze, looking quite displeased with himself for being right. I rubbed his arm, trying to sooth him, knowing that him being upset wasn't good for him. "So…Mary," Sherlock began, pausing for a moment. "Any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want extracted and returned."

"Why would you help me?"

"Sherlock," I said warningly, knowing where he was going with this. "Sherlock, no."

"Because…you saved my life."

"Sor-sorry, what?"

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?" I murmured, watching as he glanced down at me before wheezing for breath.

"When I happened on you and Magnussen…you had a problem. More specifically, you had a witness." I watched the blood drain out of Sherlock's face and I prayed for the ambulance to hurry up. "The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave. However, sentiment got the better of you. One precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me in the hope that it would buy you more time to negotiate my silence." I could see it in my mind now, the three of them in a room, Mary pulling the trigger, shooting Sherlock in the chest. From that distance, she should have killed him. A steady hand like hers wouldn't have missed a kill shot. "Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect, so…you calculated…that Magnussen…would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police…as is his M.O. And then you left the way you came."

I looked at Sherlock, seeing the pain on his face. "Sherlock. Stop talking, you're doing more damage to yourself."

"Have I missed anything?" He asked Mary, ignoring my request.

"How did she save your life?" John asked.

"She phoned the ambulance.

" _I_ phoned the ambulance," John said through gritted teeth.

I could hear the sirens in the distance and I let out a sigh of relief.

"You didn't find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died. The average arrival time for London ambulance is," Sherlock looked down at his watch and I turned as the clatter of feet was heard up the stairs.

"Did somebody call an ambulance?" The paramedic asked.

"I did. He's right there."

"Eight minutes," Sherlock finished as John stood up, looking at them in confusion. "Did you bring any morphine? She should have asked on the phone."

"We were told there was a shooting," the paramedic said, looking puzzled.

"Yes, there was, last week…but I believe I'm bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic." Sherlock put his hands on the arm of the chair, going to stand up. "You may need to re-start my heart on the way."

My heart began to race and I watched as his knees buckled. John and I moved forwards, going to catch him. I watched as Mary moved to help, but I shot her a warning glare. The paramedics rushed forward.

"Come on, Sherlock. Come on, Sherlock," John said as we held him

"Easy darling. You're in good hands. Relax," I murmured, watching as the paramedics put their bags down, helping take his weight.

"John? Delilah?"

"Hush darling," I said, struggling to keep him on his feet.

"No. John, Lila. Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved my life."

I rolled my eyes and John quietly said, "She shot you."

"Er, mixed messages, I grant you."

I winced as he cried out in pain, beginning to fall. We lowered him to the floor and I felt myself beginning to grow panicked as his breathing came in shallow gasps. The tears touched my eyes and I wiped them away impatiently with my sleeve. "Sherlock?"

"Sherlock? Sherlock," John said, trying to rouse him. "All right, take him."

We both released him and Sherlock groaned and whimpered. I had to look away, going to stand at the window. I couldn't see him like that. It broke my heart. I heard them take him away and I turned to see John staring at Mary, breathing heavily with his teeth slightly bared. As they carried Sherlock out, I stepped between them, breaking John's line of sight. I looked at Mary, seeing the anguish on her face.

"Mary, I suggest that if you would like to try and save your marriage and any semblance of our friendship, you leave this flat and don't come back for the rest of the week." The woman nodded slowly. "I also suggest that you not go and see Sherlock because if you go _anywhere_ near him, I will shoot you on sight. Is that understood?"

Again, she nodded and I watched as she left slowly, tossing one last backwards glance at John before leaving. I let out a shaky breath, turning to look at John, who was trembling with rage. The tears were there in his eyes again and I approached him slowly.

"John? John, look at me." He continued to stare straight ahead, as if looking through me. "John!"

His eyes snapped up to look at me. "What?"

"Easy…come here." I opened my arms to him and he stared at me. "Seriously, come here."

I watched as he began to crumble and he approached me, tears streaming down his face. We sunk to the floor together and I held him as he wept, rubbing his back, doing my best to sooth him. I rocked him gently back and forth as he clung to me, sobbing and crying. I pulled him tight against me, his hands clawing at my back. I knew what it was like, feeling like you were drowning on dry land. We stayed like that for a bit until John's sobs changed to sniffles and he sat up, wiping at his eyes.

"You must think I'm ridiculous, a grown man crying."

I shook my head. "No. Not at all. Come on. Let's get you up to bed. Both of us need to get a little rest before we go up to the hospital." I helped him up to his old room. "Sorry it's so girly now."

"It's alright. I'll look for a place of my own in the morning."

"John. Your place is here. I'll move my things into Sherlock's room tomorrow, that way you can have your space." I watched as he looked around. "I'll be taking your pistol."

"What? Why?"

"Because you are a man under extreme stress right now and you don't need to have something that will give you instant access to the end." I held out my hand patiently. "Sherlock asked me to. Now give it here or else I'll have to take it from you by force."

John sighed, handing me his pistol. "Happy now?"

"Very," I said, checking the safety. "Sleep well. And if you try to take this from me while I'm sleeping, I will be forced to hurt you. Keep that in mind."

With that, I left the room, listening to him as he got ready for bed. When I finally heard his soft snores an hour later, I went downstairs, knocking softly on Mrs. Hudson's door. She appeared in the doorway in her nightgown.

"Oh! Delilah! I wasn't expecting you. Please, come in."

I shook my head. "I'm going off to the hospital to see Sherlock. Will you hold onto this and keep an eye on John for me? It's John's pistol and I'd rather he not have it."

"I…alright." She took the gun from me timidly. "Should I give it back to him in the morning?"

"No. Call me when he wakes and I'll come back over. I'm sorry for all the shouting earlier." "Oh dear, when you have Sherlock in the house, there's always some sort of shouting or crashing or banging. I'm used to it at this point. Give Sherlock my love."

"I will," I replied. "Have a good night Mrs. Hudson. Sleep well."

She nodded, closing the door and I left the flat, heading to St. Bart's once more. I made it in about twenty minutes, going straight up to Sherlock's room, finding him in his bed, the morphine drip going. I sat down next to him, rubbing at the back of my neck, looking at his sleeping face.

"You idiot. You could have died."

He smirked. "Yes."

I rolled my eyes. "I should have known you'd be awake."

"I lowered my dosage on the morphine. I knew you'd come back here. How's John?"

"Sleeping. I took his gun like you asked me to."

"Good." Sherlock winced and I took his hand in my mine. "Good. Now you go home and sleep."

"No. I'm not leaving your side, especially not after today's adventures. You can get rid of that thought right now."

Sherlock sighed heavily, looking over at me. "You're stubborn."

"So are you," I said with a smile. "Go to sleep Sherlock. I'll be right here when you wake up."

He nodded and I watched as he finally drifted off to sleep. When I knew he was asleep, I reached into my pocket, pulling out a memory stick with the initials A.G.R.A. written on the side. I plugged it into the laptop I'd brought over with me from the flat the last time I'd gone home from the hospital. Quickly I downloaded all of the contents before snapping it closed, tucking the memory stick back into my pocket.

Now it came down to a choice. Did I keep the information or did I give it to Magnussen? Or did I give it to the authorities? I frowned. Two of those three options would put me at odds with Sherlock and I wasn't trying to upset him. But getting rid of Mary would protect the boys and in the end, that would be worth it, wouldn't it?

Words echoed through my mind and I sighed, getting up to look out the window. They were words my father had told me over and over again growing up, ones that I had tried to live by for the most part. I turned, grabbing the laptop and opening it.

"The truth will set you free…but this truth will destroy everyone I care about." I deleted the information, closing the laptop once again.

 _ **The deal is off Magnussen. I want no part in your silly game. Keep the information.**_

 _ **I want nothing to do with you. –DM**_

 _ **So sorry we couldn't come to an agreement. Perhaps we could reconsider. –CAM**_

 _ **No. I don't work with criminals. I never have. Good-bye. –DM**_

 _ **Oh Delilah. This is not good bye. Only see you soon. :) –CAM**_

I felt my stomach tie itself into knots even as I looked at Sherlock in bed. What had I managed to get myself into this time?


	17. Chapter 17: His Case, Her Nightmares

***Hello lovelies! A few things before you read. First off, this is the second to last chapter. The next chapter I will finish Stealing His Heart and move on to the sequel. Secondly, my cat broke my laptop. So I'm having to write everything at the office. It may take me a few days to post the next chapter, so please be patient. Finally, I am putting in a bit of a warning as there are discussions of PTSD, rape, and a violent scene as well. So if you're sensitive to any of those topics, I'm warning you now. I hope everyone enjoys this and I'll do my best to get the last chapter out before Friday. As always, reviews are welcome and thank you all so much!**

* * *

 **Chapter 17: His Case, Her Nightmares**

I walked beside Sherlock up the stairs, my arm looped through his to help steady him. John and Mrs. Hudson followed behind us, in case Sherlock should stumble and fall and I'd need help catching him. He'd finally been released from the hospital a month and a half later. It would have been sooner if he hadn't been so stubborn with trying to solve the case.

I had been glad when John and I had gotten the call to go and pick him up. I'd missed having him around the flat. That and I was getting tired of walking to St. Bart's and back every night after work and classes. I stifled a yawn as we made it to the doorway.

Sherlock took three steps inside before freezing, looking around. "You've cleaned up."

"Yes. Used what free time I had to do it. Between visiting you, teaching classes at the school, and helping out at the clinic, I managed to find the time. Took almost all of the time you were in the hospital to clean and organize everything. Mrs. Hudson helped when she could of course and I'm grateful for it." I watched as he stepped to the middle of the living room, inspecting everything.

"You cleaned it."

"Yes, I did."

"Why? Why did you clean? Now I don't know where anything is!"

I sighed, knowing where this conversation was heading. "You'll learn it quickly. I organized it by case, importance, and I color-coded everything. Honestly Sherlock, you should be glad I did. I mean, I found a dead rat underneath all of the papers under your desk!"

"Oh my! Sherlock, why would you do that?" Mrs. Hudson asked in horror, covering her mouth with her hand.

"It was a study in decomposition. Tell me, Lila, before you unceremoniously threw him in the trash, did you at least observe what he looked like?"

"No. We didn't," John answered for me, going to sit in his chair. "How long had it been under there?"

"Long enough. I didn't kill it if that's what you're all worried about. I bought it frozen at the pet store. Kept it in the cage because it seemed like the easiest thing to clean."

I shook my head, going to the kitchen to make some tea for all of us. I put the kettle on, listening to the conversation in the living room.

"Did she get new drapes? Please tell me that she didn't get new drapes." I chuckled. "Did she...did she steam my rug?"

"Yes," I called, trying to stifle my laughter. "And yes, I did replace the drapes. I also polished the leather on the sofa, dusted the furniture, organized your books, and got us a new bedding set."

I heard Sherlock get up from his chair, storming down the hallway. I could hear the despair in his voice when he said, "You changed it!"

"Yes. Needed new sheets and a comforter. The old sheets had holes in them and that comforter had a musty smell I couldn't get out, as well as a couple of stains."

"And you didn't think to ask me if I was alright with it?" Sherlock shouted even as I poured the tea. "What else did you change?"

"I think that's about it. Oh. I replaced your toothbrush, got rid of some of the expired food in the cabinets, and I had the leak under the kitchen sink repaired." I carried the tray into the living room, serving John and Mrs. Hudson before sitting on the couch, taking a sip. "Come on now, drink your tea before it gets cold."

"You...you've _changed_ things." Sherlock spat out, going to curl up in his chair. "Why? Why did you change things?"

"Sherlock, this place was filthy. My asthma and I couldn't deal with it anymore. Plus, scientifically, a clean and clear space allows for more productivity and allows your thoughts to flow freely."

Sherlock kept silent, only glaring at the wall. Mrs. Hudson looked around the flat, a smile on her face. "I think it's lovely in here dear."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. And thank you again for your help, I doubt I would have accomplished as much without you and John, especially with my hand being the way it was."

"You've worked very hard," John quipped. "You should relax for a bit and-"

"What _is_ that smell?"

"What smell?" I asked, taking a deep sniff. "I don't smell anything."

"It's an overly chemical fake citrus smell. It smells-"

"Refreshing," I interrupted Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

"I was going to say headache inducing."

I frowned at him. "Well, if I'd known you'd be this impossible about it, I wouldn't have wasted my time. Sorry."

There was silence in the room and Mrs. Hudson got to her feet. "Well, my show is about to come back on. I'm so glad you're home Sherlock. Thank you for the tea Delilah."

"You're welcome Mrs. Hudson. I'll probably be down a bit later, look at some wedding gowns in the catalogue." I gave her a smile. "I could always use another woman's opinion before I choose my dress for the big day."

"Of course! Now, you three behave. Especially you, Sherlock, you don't need to overdo it."

She left the room and I looked between John and Sherlock. "What would you all like to do? I mean, there's still a case we need to work on."

"Yes, there is."

"Sherlock, you've only just gotten home. Can't we all take a break and rest?" John protested. "I mean, Delilah has been running herself ragged, I've been...well, dealing with other things, and you're still healing. Take a day off."

"Unfortunately, John, our case doesn't allow for a day off and I've taken quite a few of those already," Sherlock replied, folding his hands in front of him. "If you two would like to take a break you can, but I'm going to be working."

With that he opened his laptop, no doubt studying the layout of Appledore, trying to formulate a plan to break in. I finished my tea before looking at John. He shrugged, going to stand behind Sherlock to look over the floor plans. I situated myself on the couch, closing my eyes and going to my mind palace.

Well, it was more of a library than a palace, but in the past month I'd become more proficient in accessing it. Now I stood in my library, smiling as I took it all in. I'd nearly filled in the entire first bookshelf on the left. It was my goal to sort through the memories and organize it.

I'd also created a meditation area, a place where I could go and think without being surrounded by the hundreds of books I was collecting. I'd made a garden, a cross between the one at John and Mary's wedding and the one my grandparents had kept on their property in Ireland. Whenever I had found sleep difficult, I'd gone there, at least relaxing my mind before I had to get up. I was able to access it through a set of ornate French doors.

I looked at the shelves, sighing heavily. I'd already put in so much information and I didn't know where to begin.

"Might as well start at the top," I muttered, grabbing the rolling ladder and dragging it over. "I feel like all I do nowadays is clean and organize."

" _ **What's she doing Sherlock?"**_

" _ **I don't know, why don't you ask her? You've been around her more than I have."**_

" _ **Not really. I wasn't joking when I said she has been running herself ragged."**_

" _ **Hmmm."**_

I tuned out the conversation, going back to my books. I hadn't realized how much I'd already stored away until I was staring at it. I pulled down an armful, climbing down carefully before sorting through them.

"Birthdays, family trips, conversations with Mother." I set those three on the table. "Let's see...John's blog, injuries and how I received them, taekwondo. But where to put you all?"

 _ **In the flat I could hear the doorbell ring. Neither Sherlock nor John seemed to move to answer it.**_

"Oh, come on you two, answer the damn door. I'm doing something kind of important." I put the books containing birthdays, family trips, and conversations with mother on the last shelf on the right. "Are you serious right now?"

 _ **The doorbell rang again. "Do you think we should get it?"**_

" _ **No," Sherlock replied. "It's probably another woman convinced that her husband is cheating on her."**_

I sighed, opening my eyes to find Sherlock and John still in the same positions as they were before. "Don't worry, I'll get the door. Not like I was trying to do anything important."

"What are you going on about?"

"Nothing Sherlock," I said, getting up from the couch. "Nothing at all. I'll go and get the door."

I headed down the stairs. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Good Lord, people are so bloody impatient these days."

I threw the door open to find the porch empty. I glanced down the street, but couldn't see anyone suspicious wander around. As I looked down, I spotted a small brown paper package tied with twine. Across the front of it was my name printed neatly, but I didn't recognize the handwriting.

"Huh. How odd," I murmured, bending down to pick it up.

Whatever it was, it was very light. I took it up the stairs, shaking it as I walked in. John glanced up at me. "Who was it?"

"I don't know. There was no one there, only this." I held up the package. "It has my name on it."

"Well open it up then," John encouraged. "Let's see what inside."

I looked to Sherlock. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to what it is?"

He glanced over at it briefly before returning his attention to his computer screen. "No. I'm not interested in what your students give you for your birthday."

"Wait, it's your birthday? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because my birthday isn't for another week and it's not that big a deal. I'm going to be thirty-two. Not much of a milestone, is it?" I asked, sitting on the couch.

"Well, we've got to celebrate it a little bit at least. I mean, it's your birthday after all."

"Yes, we can celebrate it with a quiet night in," I replied, untying the twine. "Have a few people over, order a couple of pizzas. Relax." I frowned as I pulled the paper away, revealing two discs. "Interesting."

"What is it?" John asked, going to sit next to me.

"They're discs of some kind, one labelled His, the other Hers." I handed them to John, letting him look at them. "Oh. There's a note!" I unfolded it, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Sherlock was staring at me. "'Dear Ms. McKinley. Enclosed are two discs one for you and one for your betrothed. I do hope you enjoy them. I went to a lot of trouble acquiring them. Enjoy your engagement present. Warm regards...CAM."

All three of us froze. The letter was shaking in my hand and I set it down slowly on the coffee table. John did the same with the discs. My leg began to bounce up and down. What could he have sent?

Sherlock picked up his disc from the table, opening the disc drive on his laptop and popping it in. I felt my face pale when I recognized the voice coming from his speakers.

"Come on Livvy, it'll be fun!" A younger version of myself said. "Why do you have to be so afraid of everything? We can see all of London from up there!"

"Fine. But first, Del, I have a present for you. I thought that you might like it when I saw it in the store."

I got up from the couch, going to stand behind Sherlock. I watched as I took the teddy bear from my sister, holding it tight against my chest. The tape skipped forward and in the bottom corner I could see the date. 9/7/12. My heart sank as I realized what day it was in the video.

"No...no she can't have. How would...how would he have access to these?" I asked, watching as the minutes ticked by quickly.

"Because he made a deal with the Devil," Sherlock murmured, making the video full screen. "He got those tapes from her. But what was the price?"

As past me stepped into the shot, I felt myself falling backwards in time, once more in that old flat on that fateful night. I was walking down the hall quietly, heart racing in my chest. Something didn't feel right, not at all. But why?

' _The message.'_

That was right. I'd received a text message from an unknown number and it had woken me up from my restless sleep. All there had been were two words. _Look outside._ So I'd gotten out of bed and gone to see...what exactly?

' _Your father's car,'_ the voice in my head whispered again. _'You looked outside to see your father's car sitting outside your flat. But, according to the police report, it was three blocks away and nothing but a burned out shell, your father dead in the street.'_

' _So how could it have been in two places at once?'_ I asked the voice as I slowly walked towards the window.

' _Because it was moved after your father was killed, as was his body.'_

My blood froze in my veins. _'But that's-'_

' _Not impossible. You've seen Scotland Yard in action. They can miss something like that. Watch and remember.'_

I looked down, spotting my father's car sitting right outside my flat. I could make out his figure, back to me, staring at someone else in the vehicle. There was a flash of light and I watched as the window behind my father grew dark. He slumped over and I was turning to go downstairs when I spotted the dark figure standing in the shadows.

' _How come I don't remember this?'_

' _Your mind blocked it out due to the trauma. It served you no purpose up until this point when you're re-watching it. You needed the tape in order to remember. You never would have otherwise.'_

I stared into those dark, manic eyes in that pale face, dark brown hair slicked back as he pointed his gun at me.

"I thought you didn't get your hands dirty with your work?" I heard myself ask.

"And normally I don't," he replied, pulling the trigger of the silenced gun. White hot pain rushed through me and I was falling to my knees, staring up at him. He pushed me onto my back with his foot, grin widening as he did. "But this was my wedding present to my bride. This was all she wanted, for me to kill you. Your sister is very easy to please."

I gasped for air as the pain overwhelmed me. I pressed against the wound with my fingers, trying to get the bleeding to stop. He kicked my hand away, his foot lightly pressing against the wound. I let out a scream of agony.

"Now, now. No screaming allowed. I mean, what would your father think of you being so weak? Oh...that's right. He can't anymore, seeing as his brains are splattered against the window of his car." He pressed a bit harder on the wound and I only managed a small moan. "Now, say you love your sister." When I hesitated, he dug the toe of his shoe into the wound. "Say it!"

"I...love you Livvy…" I managed to choke out.

"Louder!"

"I love you Livvy!" I screamed as he dug deeper into the wound.

"There we go. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" He blew a kiss to the teddy bear that Livvy had given me the previous week. Those black eyes turned down to look at me and he smiled. "Now, why don't you go ahead and die already?"

I stumbled backwards as the memory ended, finding myself grabbed by Sherlock. I stared into his eyes, feeling my heart racing in my chest, my breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. I realized I was still clutching my abdomen where I'd been shot. I pulled my hand away, half-expecting to see blood.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock's voice was calm, but I could see the worry on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. What...what happened?"

"Well, once you came into frame, you started acting bizarrely," John answered. "Began muttering to yourself, re-enacting what had happened. Sherlock paused it when you began to stumble around so that he could make sure you didn't fall."

"So...none of that happened?"

"It happened," Sherlock said, brushing a curl away from my face. "But not right now. You had a flashback. More than likely you didn't remember what happened until you saw the tapes and it unlocked itself in your mind. What did you see?"

"Watch the rest of the video and you'll find out," I muttered, feeling myself begin to tremble. "I can't go over it again. Not yet. Please don't make me Sherlock."

Sherlock stared at me for a few more seconds before he sat in his chair, picking up the laptop and hitting the play button. The three of us watched as I was shot, as Moriarty tortured me. We couldn't hear any sound and for that I was thankful. Moriarty looked directly into the camera, blowing a kiss to it. I heard John's gasp of horror as he recognized him. Sherlock stiffened in the chair.

The minutes ticked by in the video. Nearly five minutes had gone by when my old neighbor opened the door to my flat. As the light fell on me, I could see the blood staining my old carpet. My stomach turned, but I kept watching. She rushed to my side, quickly trying to rouse me before calling emergency services. By the time that paramedics arrived, my neighbor was performing chest compressions. I had to look away after that.

I was getting myself under control when I heard it. My scream echoing all around as men laughed. "SHERLOCK HELP ME!"

"Turn it off," I whispered. "Sherlock, turn it _off_!"

Sherlock exited out of the video and I fought the memories that were trying to overwhelm me. I could tell that the other two were also shaken by what had been playing. I let out my breath slowly, focusing on the rhythm of it and getting it under control. I was doing my best to keep myself calm.

"Well...that was...that was...yeah. Let's not watch that ever again," John said, rubbing at the back of his head. "Jesus Christ that was awful. I'm so sorry."

"Save it. There's another video to watch."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock murmured, frowning at me. "I mean, who knows what could be on your tape."

"It'll probably be footage of you getting shot or something. How bad can it be?" I asked as I pulled my own laptop out from beside the couch. "I doubt it could top that."

I opened the disc drive, popping it in. As I waited for it to load, I reached for my headphones. I froze when I recognized the voice that I hadn't heard for four years begin to speak.

"Livvy? Wh-what happened? Where am I?" My father asked, sounding groggy. "What's going on?"

"Oh father," my sister sighed. "You always were _so_ blind when it came to what our family was doing. So blind and foolish."

I heard the telltale click of a gun being loaded and watched as she placed the barrel between his eyes. My father's eyes widened as he seemed to realize what was happening. I observed the trickle of blood down the side of his face, coming to the conclusion that she had pistol whipped him when they'd parked in front of my flat to get me.

Once more I was falling into the video, viewing everything through the lens of the camera my sister was holding in her hand.

"Livvy, what...put that gun down!"

"Oh no. I don't think I will. You see, you know a little too much about my organization. And I can't have anyone in the way, which is why you will die and then Delilah will die." I could hear the smile in her voice. "Oh, what a wonderful family reunion. How exciting."

"No!" My father shouted. "No! Kill me, but not her."

"Awwww, how sweet. You always did prefer her over me. Why? Why couldn't you love me as much as you loved her?"

"Sweetheart, I love both of you. You two are my world, my life. I would do anything for you girls." I watched as my sister rested her finger on the trigger. "Please, Livvy, listen to me. Whatever you've done, whatever trouble you're in, we can get you out of it. I love you. I've loved you since the day I found out your mother was pregnant with you. Please. _Put the gun down!"_

"It's too late for your pathetic pleas and excuses. I've got a world to shape and remake. Now...any last words?"

I watched as the tears began to slip down his face. "Delilah...my sweet little Del, if you somehow get this video, I want you to run. Run as far away from London as you can. It's not safe here. If you choose to stay...remember the things I taught you. You'll need everything you've learned to survive."

"Come on old man, hurry it up. My arm is getting tired."

My father's eyes met the camera and I felt as if he were looking directly at me. "Delilah, I love you so much. I'm sorry...you've made me so proud. I-"

I let out a scream as the gun went off, dropping the laptop to the floor. But it wasn't fast enough as the image of my father's brains splattering against the windows and his blank blue eyes staring up at the ceiling imprinted on my mind. I began to shake, the panic and hysteria overtaking every rational thought I might have in that moment. My stomach heaved and I ran for the bathroom, but was unable to make it. I instead stuck my head in the sink as I vomited.

My hand searched for the handle, cutting the water on to wash the vomit down the drain before Sherlock or John saw it. The initial shock was beginning to wear off, instead getting replaced by a red hot fury that I'd never felt before. It blinded me, consumed me in that instant as I staggered upright, clutching the sink for balance. I heard Sherlock's footsteps stopping a few feet behind me.

"We get Magnussen," I growled, looking out the window to the streets. "We end him. And then we get Olivia, the murdering bitch. Agreed?" Sherlock remained silent and I whirled on him. "Sherlock, we have to get them. We can't just let them roam the streets, especially not her. We have to get them!"

"I know."

"Then why aren't we doing anything? Why aren't we out there searching for them? We need to go now, get out there!"

"No."

"What?" I whispered, feeling my body begin to shake again. "What do you mean _no?_ You're the great Sherlock Holmes. This is what you do! This is what you live for. This is what you're _good_ at! Getting the bad guys, solving the cases."

"Yes. I am good at solving cases. But not yet. We're not ready yet. I need more evidence."

"How much more evidence do you need?" I shouted. "He blackmailed Mary and hundreds of other innocent people! _She_ killed my father! She killed him in cold blood, shot him...shot him b-between...between the eyes...oh...oh G-God!"

I felt my knees give way, a cry of anguish ripping from my throat. I'd thought that the possibility of losing Sherlock was the most painful thing I could feel, but I was wrong. This was ten times worse, the image of my father burning in my brain, his words echoing around in my head, drowning out any and all other noise that I could hear. I watched as again and again his head snapped back, his eyes went wide, the blood splattered against the window. I clutched at my head, shaking it back and forth as I rocked.

A hand touched my back and I realized that John had come to kneel beside me. "Come on, deep breath for me now. Come on, it's alright. You're safe. Take a breath for me."

But I couldn't breathe. My lungs were locked up as I silently screamed my anguish and pain. All these years, all those emotions shoved to the side, locked away and now they were flooding out of me as I remembered that night, as it burned into my brain as brilliantly as the fire that I'd thought killed my sister.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, she's turning blue. Delilah, I need you to breathe, come on now. Breathe for me!"

The darkness was infiltrating my vision, but I was glad for it, as it was blocking out the sight of my father being murdered. A hand struck me hard between my shoulder blades and I took an involuntary gasp before coughing. It struck again and I took another breath, my vision coming back to me. John was holding me up on my knees and I could see out of the corner of my eye, the dark color of Sherlock's trousers. The howl of anguish that had been silent now came ripping from my throat.

"John, help her to bed. I'm not strong enough yet to carry her."

An arm wrapped around my waist and John was dragging me up off the floor and onto my feet. I couldn't get my legs to work or my mind to function. I was a sobbing mess, trapped inside my own head. John managed to get me to stumble my way down the hall with him, Sherlock following behind. I collapsed on the bed as John let go, curling into a ball, burying my face into my pillow.

"Delilah...easy. You're okay. It's okay." John sat down next to me, rubbing my back. "Sherlock, I could use some help here." I felt a sharp prick of pain in my neck. "No, not that kind of help!"

"John, she is hysterical and is going to make herself sick. You said yourself that she is exhausted. It's a mild sedative I've given her. She'll be fine in about four to six hours."

My eyelids were already beginning to droop. "No...I'll be...trapped...Sherlock…"

I was unconscious before I could form the next words.

* * *

I felt as if I were floating in darkness, weightless and swimming forever without any idea where the surface would be. I thought I saw a glimmer of light to my right. I began to swim in that direction, determined to find my way out. I could only hope that I was going up, because going down meant memories of blood and screaming and lost hope. I saw another glimmer and I began to swim faster now, knowing that I was nearly there, nearly free of the darkness.

My head burst through the surface and I gasped, sitting upright in bed. Hands pressed gently on my shoulders and I tumbled back into the bed, heading cracking against the headboard. I rubbed against the sore spot, looking over to see Sherlock next to me, sitting cross-legged as he watched me.

"What happened?"

"I sedated you."

"Why?" I asked, frowning. "What-?"

Then it all came flooding back to me. I felt the tears spring to my eyes and I took in a deep breath, working to try and get control. Sherlock's fingers intertwined with mine and he gave it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over my knuckles before resting on the ring.

"I am sorry you had to see that and that you're upset now. But I need to know that you're going to maintain your composure while working on this case." His voice was soft and his eyes serious. "I can't have you flying off the handle when we go for Magnussen. If I feel that you can't handle it, I'm taking you off the case, no questions asked. I may need your expertise on breaking and entering, but I am not risking losing him. Understand?"

I nodded slowly, looking down at my hands in shame. "I do. What makes you think I won't be able to handle it? I've been doing fine with it, studying the floor plans and the security systems like you asked."

"Because I watched you break down today, which was exactly his goal. He wanted to shake you." Sherlock lay down next to me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I don't want to put you in harm's way mentally, as he'll use anything he can to get you to break as he thinks that's a way to get to me."

"Isn't it?"

Sherlock gave me a small smile. "I compartmentalize, remember? You and all feelings I have for you go into a box when I'm on a case. That way you can't be used against me."

"Oh. Makes sense. So it's like flipping a switch in your brain."

"Essentially. Like, right now, while we're talking, I can allow myself to feel something for you because I know you're not in danger. But once we start working on the case again, I'll have to turn those emotions off. It keeps both of us safe."

"Alright. What did you give me by the way?" I asked, sitting up in bed. "I mean, that was some fast acting stuff."

"Something that a friend left for me a while ago. I've been holding onto it for an experiment, but I thought that you could use it more than I could. You need to lay down and rest."

"I'm fine. We've got floor plans to go over." I was swinging my legs out of bed, stumbling for a second. "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting for you to get back in bed," Sherlock said, getting out of the bed to stand in front of me, blocking my way. "I did the math after talking to Mrs. Hudson and John about your schedule. You've only been getting two to four hours of sleep a night. And from what John says, a lot of that was broken. So in the past month and a half, you've gotten ninety to one hundred and eighty hours of sleep, which is not healthy."

"I don't want to sleep Sherlock. I can't, especially not now."

"Why not? What's the matter?"

"She's having flashbacks," John said from behind Sherlock. "I've seen it before. I've _experienced_ it before. Isn't that right Delilah? It's why you were constantly doing something or checking up on me, why you would fall asleep in bed and end up on the couch. It's why you made your mind palace or library or whatever it was that you told me about when I found you lying in the middle of the living room floor. So you can escape and get away and try to control it."

"You've been learning from Sherlock, haven't you? How to observe?"

John shook his head, leaning against the doorframe. "What was it you said to me at my wedding? The funny thing about being suicidal is that we can see it in the others around us? The same goes when it comes to PTSD. I've wanted to confront you about it for weeks, but now...now I need to."

"I'm fine."

"You're not," John said softly. "You barely eat, you hardly sleep and when you do I can hear you shouting. You've been under a lot of stress lately, so it's no surprise. You need help Del. Sherlock, back me up on this."

"Lila...look at me," Sherlock murmured, taking my face in his hands. I averted my eyes from his gaze. "Lila. _Look_ at me."

Slowly I looked up at him, staring into those galaxies, getting lost in them. It was the first time I'd felt peace since Sherlock and I had started this case against Magnussen. I immediately relaxed.

"Pale skin, dark circles, bloodshot eyes suggesting lack of sleep. Inability to make eye contact, nearly a stone lost." Sherlock stepped back to look me over. "Clothes are a size too big, doesn't look like they've been washed for at least two weeks. Hair is slightly greasy, signs that you haven't bothered to shower. Given what John has said as well, yes, Lila, you do need help."

I looked between the two of them before sighing, running a hand through my hair. "I thought I was doing so well at hiding it too."

"Come sit down in the living room. We'll talk about it in there, see what we can do." John offered me his hand and I took it, following behind him like a naughty child.

Sherlock stared after us, lost in thought. I caught a brief glimpse of the ring still on his finger and I felt a phantom of a smile tug at my lips. At least through all of this I had him.

* * *

"When did they start?" John asked as I settled in on the couch, a half-empty plate in front of me.

Sherlock had insisted that I eat before they began to question me. I'd protested, but they'd ordered food for me anyway. Now I was feeling a bit sick to my stomach as I sat on the couch looking between John and Sherlock. I shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

"When did what start?"

"The nightmares. When did they start?"

"After I was shot."

"And have they grown in intensity?" I nodded. "Scale of 1 to 10."

"They used to be a two to a three...now they're about a six to a seven."

"Have you been going to see your therapist?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped together.

I shook my head. "Not since right before the wedding. I...I thought I could handle it."

"And when did the dreams start again?" John questioned and I noted that he was jotting things down.

"Erm...right after I moved upstairs into your old room when Janine was staying here. They weren't so bad and again, I thought I could handle them." I craned my neck to see what he was writing and Sherlock smiled. "What, are you psychoanalyzing me or something?"

"Yes," John replied. "Now, how many times a week do you have these nightmares? And are there times when they're not as bad as others?"

"I have them every night. And...well, whenever Sherlock and I...well, when we share a bed, they're not as bad. I feel safe."

"Any triggers? Anything that makes it worse?"

"Stress. Talk of rape makes me uncomfortable. Men describing sex in detail also makes me uncomfortable. I don't know of anything else." I looked to Sherlock, who was staring at me. He offered me a small smile. "Really, I'm fine. We don't need to go to any great lengths."

"You're not fine," Sherlock said calmly. "Let John help."

John wrote something else down before looking up at me, smiling. "I'm not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, but I've been practicing medicine for a while. I'm going to get you a prescription for sleeping pills that you need to take whenever Sherlock isn't around. I'll also give you a prescription for an anti-anxiety pill. I want you to take it whenever you feel panicked or if you begin to have visions of what happened. I'll bring it home tomorrow from the clinic."

"I don't need them," I said flatly. "I don't want them, I don't need them."

"Delilah, don't be stubborn."

"No! I don't want to be medicated! I can handle it on my own."

"Lila." I looked to Sherlock sitting calmly in his chair. "At least take them one time and see how you feel. I...need you at full strength."

I frowned before sighing. "Fine. One time. If I feel like I can't function like a normal human being I'm not taking them anymore."

"Thank you. Now, why don't we look at those plans for Appledore again?"

I got up from the couch. "I think I'll take a shower and go to bed. I'm still a bit groggy from that sedative you gave me."

"Alright. I'll try not to wake you when I go to bed. Good night."

I began to walk out when John grabbed my arm. "I'll be needing your pistol from you."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're a woman under extreme stress and don't need a one way ticket out of this life at your fingertips."

I sighed. "Fine. I'll go and fetch it before I take my shower."

I went to the bedroom, grabbing my holster with my pistol. I looked at the gun, frowning. I hadn't even had the thought of suicide cross my mind until that moment. Now it did seem like the easy way out, get rid of all the memories, all the pain. I got to my feet, going back down the hall and handing it off to John. He nodded and gave me a small smile.

"Thank you Del."

"No problem. Now, I'm going to go and take a shower and then I'm going to bed. Wake me if there's a major breakthrough in the case."

I went to the bathroom, closing and locking the door. I took in a few shaky breaths before looking up in the mirror. There was that haunted look again that I'd thought I'd dealt with. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd only suppressed it, doing the same thing that Sherlock did with his feelings, shoving them into a little box and hiding them away. I turned the water on, letting it heat up as I stared at myself in the mirror. Why now? Why was all of this coming up now?

' _Because you've been trying to hide it from yourself, using anything and everything as an excuse to not deal with it. But those videos are_ making _you have to deal with it. Two choices. Face it head on or let it consume you.'_ The voice in my head piped up. _'Now, which one will it be?'_

"I'm no quitter," I muttered to myself. "I'm going to beat this."

I stripped out of my clothes, stepping under the hot stream of water, letting it run over my head and down my body. For the first time I actually looked at my body and all the scars and marks that had been left there. I realized I'd been avoiding it for months. Now I looked down, inspecting my skin. There were the burn marks on my sides, the old gunshot wound scar. There were quite a few lash marks from where they'd whipped me and drawn blood. Cigarette burns dotted my upper and inner thighs, and there was also the scar along my belly from where Desmond had sliced me out of my jumper and caught my skin.

I didn't even want to see my back, but I knew that I had to. I grabbed the compact mirror off the back of the toilet, stepping out of the shower and going to stand in front of the steamy bathroom mirror. Even despite the steam, I could still see the pink lash marks, some of them raised and bright pink. I winced. I could count seven that I could see in the mirror while I stood on tiptoe. I frowned. How was Sherlock not repulsed by all of the scars and markings on my skin?

I got back into the tub, scrubbing my hair with shampoo and conditioner. I watched as it circled the drain and I closed my eyes, picturing my library. I walked past all the shelves of books, going directly out to the garden. Out there it was dusk, the sun setting blood red on the horizon, winking out from behind the branches of the tall pines. I wandered down to the pond, staring into the water.

"Why? Why does it have to be this way?"

"It doesn't have to stay this way." I whirled around to see my father standing behind me, a smile on his face.

"What? How are you here?"

"You imagined me here. I'm not real. Well, you saw the disc." He frowned. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"So...you're what, a part of my subconscious mind that I conjured up?"

"Essentially. And I'm here to give you a bit of advice. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgement and don't miss anything. You're smart. Put your feelings aside and act like it. Work first, love after."

I sighed. "Fine. As soon as this case is done, I'm planning my wedding. No more cases until after I'm married."

"Good girl."

 _ **I heard a knock on the door to the bathroom. "Delilah? Are you alright in there?"**_

I looked to my father. "I wish you weren't dead."

"I know you do. Remember your training and keep practicing."

" _ **Delilah? Delilah open the door. Sherlock, I can't get her to answer."**_

"I feel as if I'm missing something. Something important about the plans. What is it?"

"Uncloud your mind and push away the emotions. You'll see it."

" _ **Lila, open the door."**_

" _ **I'm going to kick it down!"**_

"Don't!" I snapped, looking around the shower curtain at the door. "I'll be out in a minute. Sorry. Must have dozed off."

I cut the water off, stepping out of the tub, wrapping a towel around my hair before using the second one to dry my body. I dressed quickly, opening the door to find Sherlock and John standing outside. "Sorry about that boys. Didn't mean to frighten you."

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, a look of concern on his face. "We heard you talking."

"Talking? Oh, I don't know about that. Like I said, think I dozed off. Anyway, I'm off to bed now. See you in the morning?"

They both nodded, but I could feel Sherlock staring at me as I walked down the hall to our room. I closed the door most of the way, leaving it open a crack. I took the towel off of my head, placing it on the corner of the door to dry. I stripped out of my clothes, climbing under the blankets. I was asleep before I even knew I was in bed.

* * *

I felt him climb into bed next to me and I said nothing. His warm body pressed up against mine and his arm draped itself over my waist. I moved closer to him and he pressed a kiss to the side of my neck.

"Did I wake you?" Sherlock murmured in my ear.

"Maybe. But it's alright. I don't mind. What time is it?"

"Two-thirty."

"Early for you."

"Hmmm?"

"Well, before you were in the hospital, you were in bed really late, around four o'clock some nights. So two-thirty is early for you."

"I wanted to come and join you and John has to be at the clinic early tomorrow."

"Ah. Makes sense. Well then...with John upstairs why don't we-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" I asked, confused.

"About the nightmares. Why didn't you tell me you were having them again?"

I rolled over to look at him, resting my hand against his cheek. "Because, Sherlock, it wasn't important. You needed to heal, not worry. I'm fine. Or I'll be fine."

Sherlock frowned. "Do you not trust me?"

"I do," I said. "I wouldn't have given you my father's ring if I didn't. But there are some things in this life that you can't protect me from. I have to solve this mystery on my own Sherlock."

"Fine...but if you need help-"

"If I need help I have the number of the world's greatest consulting detective." I gave him another smile before pressing a kiss to his lips. "Now, I believe we have some other business to attend to."

"And what would that be?" I was flipping him onto his back, straddling him. His hands rested gently on my hips even as he looked up at me with a mischievous grin. "Ah. That sort of business."

"Yes Mr. Holmes. Unless you'd like to reschedule for a later date?"

I gasped as he slid inside me. "No. I think that this appointment is just fine at this moment in time."

"Well then Mr. Holmes, let me show you how much I've missed you since you've been away."


	18. Chapter 18: Did You Miss Me?

***Well, this is it lovelies. This is the end of Stealing His Heart. I will begin Freeing Her Soul in a few days. I need to plot out a couple of things before I actually begin writing and publishing on here. It shouldn't be more than a couple of days though. As always, I want to give credit to Ariane DeVere for her amazing transcripts. They've helped me so much writing this. There are a couple of things in this chapter that may be triggering (sexual assault) and there's also a bit of smut at the end. I will say, there are so many things still left to cover and I can't wait to write them all. I hope everyone has enjoyed this story and I wanted to thank you all for sticking with me to the very end. I hope you enjoy this last chapter and please let me know what you think. Reviews are welcome as always.***

* * *

 **Chapter 18: Did You Miss Me?**

I sat next to Sherlock on the floor, watching everyone in the room. It was the first time I'd met Sherlock's parents and needless to say, they'd been more than a bit shocked when I was introduced to them as his fiancé at Christmas. Mary and John had come with us and it had been a very awkward and quiet ride. I hadn't spoken to Mary since I'd threatened to shoot her in the flat. Apparently, neither had John judging by the frigid silence. Bill had also come with us and I'd actually grown close to him during his visits to the flat. He and I had shared war stories from our days on the streets.

I'd become even more nervous when I realized that Mycroft was there. He and I had tolerated each other for the most part, but seeing each other at a family gathering for the first time was a whole new scenario. Sherlock's mother and father had been very kind after they'd gotten over the initial shock and I'd helped Sherlock's mother prep for Christmas dinner. She'd finally urged me to go and spend time with Sherlock and I'd settled in beside his chair, holding his hand.

"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock." I giggled as I took a sip of water. "Its been Christmas Day for at least a _week_ now."

"Oh Mycroft, it's not that bad. I mean, think about it, we're getting to know each other on a more intimate level." He shot me a glare and my smile widened. "Come on, don't you want to get to know your future sister-in-law?"

Sherlock squeezed my hand, giving me a small smile as he shook his head. I knew he was enjoying my teasing his brother, but there was also a time and place. I rolled my eyes but refrained from picking on Mycroft, taking another sip of my water instead.

"How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony."

Sherlock grabbed the paper beside him and I could only chuckle, resting my head against his leg, reading the headlines upside down as I looked up at him. He leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead. I smiled, getting to my feet to go and join Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft in the kitchen.

"Mikey, is this _your_ laptop?" I heard Mrs. Holmes ask and I couldn't help but laugh at the nickname.

"Mikey? And here I thought that was only a Janine nickname. I'll have to start calling you that myself."

"No you will not. And on which depends the security of the free world, yes. And you've got potatoes on it."

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important," Mrs. Holmes admonished.

"Why are we doing this? We _never_ do this."

I held back another laugh as Mrs. Holmes leaned on the table, a look of exasperation on her face. "We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are _all_ very happy."

"Am I happy too? I haven't checked."

I rolled my eyes and Mrs. Holmes said warningly, "Behave, Mike."

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

"Mycroft, be nice. Nicknames aren't so bad." I watched as Bill walked in with a glass of punch in his hand.

"Mrs. Holmes?"

"Oh! Thank you, dear. Not absolutely sure why you're here."

" _I_ invited him," Sherlock piped up.

"I'm his protégé, Mrs. 'olmes," Bill said proudly, puffing out his chest. "When 'e dies, I get all his stuff, an' 'is job."

"No," Sherlock replied, still reading the paper. "If I die, everything goes to Lila as she'd be my wife. Unless by some unfortunate circumstance she died as well."

"Oh. Well, I help out a bit."

"Closer."

We were all staring at Bill when he said, "If 'e does get murdered or something…"

Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes both looked horrified, whereas I glared at Bill, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Probably stop talking now," Sherlock said, not looking up from the newspaper.

"Okay," Bill answered, going to shuffle off somewhere.

I looked down at the punch glass he'd left for me and I went to take a sip when I caught Sherlock signing from the corner of my eye. I set it down again, instead grabbing for my water, taking a sip of that.

"Lovely when you bring your friends round!" Mycroft spat at Sherlock and I sighed.

"Stop it you," Mrs. Holmes snapped, setting her glass down. "Somebody's put a bullet in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous." I shook my head, taking another sip but keeping my mouth shut. No need to start a fight on Christmas. "Ah. This was for Mary. I'll be back in a minute."

As she left I went to sit on Sherlock's lap. He wrapped his arms around my waist and I pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering, "Why did you sign the word don't?"

"You'll see in roughly seven minutes. I need you to help me with something."

"Magnussen?" I murmured, making it look as if I were pressing kisses to his neck so that Mycroft wouldn't become suspicious.

"Mhmm."

"Okay luv." I pressed a kiss to his lips before turning to Mycroft. "Are you still brooding over there?"

"And what if I am?"

"Well, it seems like a waste of energy. It's a holiday Mycroft, stop being so doom and gloom."

Mycroft sneered at me. "You would know about doom and gloom, wouldn't you?"

I frowned. "Now what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Oh nothing. Only that you seem to carry around a little black cloud of bad luck wherever you go."

"Now now, what's going on in here?" Mrs. Holmes asked, hands on her hips. "Mike, are you being rude to Delilah?"

"No Mrs. Holmes, everything is fine. I wanted to say again, how sorry I am that I came as a surprise. Sherlock and I were going to tell you sooner, but when we planned on doing it, well, he ended up in the hospital." I gave her what I hoped was a winning smile. "I suppose that Mycroft is still getting used to the idea of having a younger sister in the mix as well."

I got off of Sherlock's lap, going to stand at the counter with Mrs. Holmes. I watched as Sherlock got up, going to take his coat off one of the pegs. Mr. Holmes walked into the room, looking a bit shaken up.

"Those two. They all right?"

Sherlock put on his coat. "Well, you know. They've had their ups and downs, as most couples do."

I frowned, glancing at the door, wondering if I should go in and check on them. I decided against it, knowing that if they were in there and talking, then perhaps things would work out. I'd need to do that with Mary as well. I'd forgiven her for the most part, now that I understood why she was doing it. Magnussen was a horrible human being and if he could get his hands on something that hurt me horribly, who knew what he had against Mary.

I watched as Sherlock and Mycroft left the room, going out into the garden. I looked between my future in-laws, feeling slightly awkward. "So...erm, I'm sure you both have a few questions for me, yes?"

"Well, I know I do," Mrs. Holmes said, giving me a smile. "How did you two meet? How long have you been seeing each other? Have you been engaged long?"

I returned her smile. "I take it that Sherlock has never...brought a girl home?"

"No, never. Hasn't even mentioned anyone to us. Then again, Sherlock has always been a private individual, so even if there were girls, I doubt he would have told us," Mr. Holmes replied, taking a sip of punch.

"Yes, well, I met Sherlock last December. I was having an asthma attack and he and John saved my life. When they found out that I was homeless and had people after me, they took me in and helped me solve the case. We started dating around May and he proposed a week or so after Mary and John's wedding. So...nearly six months by my math." I could feel the sweat popping out on my brow and Mrs. Holmes looked out the window.

"Oh, those two!" She opened the cottage door, stepping outside. "Are you two smoking?"

Mr. Holmes leaned in to me to whisper confidentially, "She knows that they smoke and she hates it. But I suppose if they have to have vices, I'd rather it be cigarettes than anything else."

I giggled. "You're quite right. It's better than alcohol or worse."

We both laughed and I watched as his eyes became glossed over. "I think...I think I should lie down in the sitting room."

I nodded. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, quite. You see, when you get to be my age, you get tired out easily. It's why it's always helpful to have a doting wife around." He gave Mrs. Holmes a grin and a wink as she walked back inside. "Been in love with that woman since the day I met her."

"I can only hope that Sherlock and I are so lucky."

"You will be. Sherlock likes to think that he's good at hiding things, but when he looks at you, I can see how much he loves you." I helped Mr. Holmes down onto the couch. "When he looks at you, it's the same way I look at my wife. You two are good together."

I smiled. "Thank you Mr. Holmes. It means a lot to hear you say that. I was worried about how you all would take the news."

"Promise me one thing?" He murmured and I watched as his eyes began to go unfocused.

"Aye, what's that?"

"Promise me that you'll protect him and keep him out of trouble?"

"I promise." His eyes closed and I grew worried. "Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes?"

I turned as I heard two grunts behind me, watching as Bill caught Mrs. Holmes and Sherlock caught his brother. Sherlock set Mycroft down at the kitchen table and Bill set Mrs. Holmes down in the chair where Sherlock had been sitting. I got to my feet, crossing to Sherlock.

"What have you done?"

"You'll see. John should be panicking in three...two…"

"Mary, can you hear me?"

Sherlock opened the door, walking into the room. "Don't drink Mary's tea." He walked back out, grabbing his scarf from the peg. "Oh, or the punch."

"Sherlock?" I heard John ask and I could hear the rage in his voice as Sherlock began to check the breathing of every unconscious person in the room. "Did you just drug my pregnant wife?"

I took a deep breath, knowing that there was more than likely an argument coming, especially if John and Mary had made up.

"Don't worry," Sherlock reassured John as he checked Mycroft's breathing. "Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I calculated your wife's dose meself. Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on 'er." Bill turned to me. "Sorry about nearly dosin' you Del."

"It's fine. Sherlock warned me before I took a sip."

"He'll monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job," Sherlock replied, putting his scarf on.

"What the hell have you done?" John demanded, staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock hesitated, looking down before replying. "A deal with the devil."

I shook my head slowly. "Sherlock...it's not worth it. Why? Why would you? When did you?"

"Oh, Jesus," John said softly before walking away, going into the other room.

I continued to stare at Sherlock. "Why Sherlock?"

"Because I want him brought down."

"There's more to it than that," I replied, crossing to him, forcing him to look me in the eye. "Sherlock, why would you do something like this?"

"Because...I don't want to see you or anyone else hurt anymore."

I frowned. "It's not worth it."

"It is to me."

"I thought you were compartmentalizing your feelings?"

"I was until I saw that it hurt you, what he sent. How it has caused you night terrors and sleepless nights. How you barely eat anymore, barely laugh or smile." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I love you. You don't have to come if you don't want to Lila. I'm sure Bill could use the help."

"Oh no Sherlock. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Sherlock...please tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind," I heard John say through gritted teeth from the sitting room.

Sherlock bent down, taking Mycroft's laptop from underneath his hand. I fought back a groan as I knew what Sherlock intended to do with it. He had gone out of his mind.

"I'd rather keep you guessing." My eyes widened as I heard the sound of an approaching helicopter overhead. "Ah. There's our lift."

John walked across the room, looking through the window. "Did you know he was going to do this Del?"

"I'm a good actor John, but even this I wouldn't be able to fake my way through," I answered, stepping next to him. "Mary will be fine. We have to trust him on that."

"Where do you think we're going?" John questioned, still staring out the window at the helicopter that was attempting a landing.

"I have a few ideas and none of them are good. Best to let him explain it rather than listen to my attempts at guessing."

John sighed. "You realize that when you marry him, your whole life will be like this, correct?"

"I do. And I look forward to it."

We left the cottage, Sherlock following behind us with the laptop tucked under his arm, John's coat in his right hand. "You both coming?"

"Where?" John asked.

"Do you want your wife to be safe? Because I know I want Lila to be."

"Yeah, of course I do," John replied.

We all turned to look at the helicopter and I felt myself begin to shake. I touched the gun in its holster.

"Good because this is going to be incredibly dangerous." Sherlock took a deep breath before saying, "One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us."

I took Sherlock's hand under the coat and he gave it a light squeeze as he finished speaking. "Whatever happens is what needs to happen. I'm by you every step of the way."

"But it's _Christmas,"_ John said exasperatedly.

Sherlock smiled. "I feel the same." He glanced over at John and his smile faded. "Oh, you mean it's actually Christmas. Did you bring your gun as I suggested?"

"Why would I bring my gun to your parents' house for Christmas dinner?!" John nearly shouted.

"Is it in your coat?"

John took the coat from him before begrudgingly replying, "Yes."

Sherlock turned to look at me. "Do you have your gun?"

"Aye. Never leave the house without it."

He grabbed me by my arms, turning me to look at him. "You can still back out you know. John and I can do this alone."

I shook my head, standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss. "I did that once and nearly lost you. I'm not doing that again."

He smiled. "Off we go then."

"Where are we going?" John asked as we began to walk towards the helicopter.

"Appledore."

I felt my stomach tie itself into knots before muttering, "Into the belly of the beast we go then. Let's not keep him waiting."

* * *

I looked down at the home. It was disgusting looking. All glass and metal, nothing natural about it except for the grass. It was soulless, exactly like its owner. I shook my head, closing my eyes before we prepared to land. I was looking over the floor plans in my head. Something hadn't been sitting right since I'd started studying them. Something was wrong, out of place, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I rotated the 3-D projection hovering over the table in my library.

"What is it? What is wrong with this picture?" I murmured before Sherlock shook my arm.

' _We're landing now,'_ he mouthed to me and I nodded, my heart kicking up a few extra beats a minute. We landed easily, security men approaching us from the patio. I rolled my eyes, hoping and praying that there wouldn't be another pat down like the last time. I knew that here, Magnussen was in control and I doubted that he would hesitate to have us kill if we acted up.

Luckily, we weren't searched and we followed one man into the house. He led us through what looked to be an atrium filled with large exotic plants. I kept close to Sherlock, not wanting to fall behind. I stepped into the elevator, grabbing Sherlock's hand as I felt claustrophobic in the small space. He let go as soon as the doors opened and we were led to stand in front of Magnussen, who had a glass of whiskey in his hand. Sherlock and I stopped a couple of paces in front of the sofa and John stood behind us. Magnussen nodded to his men and they left.

"I would offer you two a drink, but it's very rare and expensive. I will offer one to Olivia though. Oh, wait, sorry, mixing up the sisters. Never mind, I won't offer one to you Delilah."

"That's fine. I'm not interested in your drink anyway," I said, glaring at him. Sherlock turned to sit on the sofa to Magnussen's right. "So what'd she give you? Information on us? Information on her husband? Did she spread her legs for you?"

Magnussen chuckled. "You are quite the feisty one, aren't you? Well, when you get bored with your consulting detective, you can always come to me. I'd be more than happy to entertain you for a night."

"In your dreams," I spat, going to sit next to Sherlock, watching as he set the laptop down between himself and Magnussen.

"Believe me, there have been plenty."

"Oh," Sherlock said calmly and I followed his gaze to the glass wall opposite of us. "It was you."

Projected onto the wall was a loop of footage, showing Sherlock rescuing John from the bonfire as well as my getting rescued, Desmond falling backwards time and time again, me crumpling to the floor in a small ball as Sherlock approached. It played on a continuous loop, switching from John's rescue to mine. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

"Yes, of course," Magnussen replied and I watched John glance over his shoulder before doing a double take. "Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr. Holmes."

"Mm."

John turned, walking towards the wall. I finally tore myself away, turning to look at Magnussen.

"The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?" Sherlock's mouth twitched before he shrugged. "But look how you care about John Watson and Delilah McKinley. Your damsels in distress."

I growled at that phrase, hands fisting at my side as John turned around. "You...put me in a fire...for leverage?"

"Aye, as he got the tapes from my sister as well."

"Oh, I'd never let you burn Doctor Watson. I had people standing by. As I'd never let Ms. McKinley have access to the entire tape. Got to keep her fragile psyche intact for fun in the future." Magnussen stood up and I only glared at him. "You see Dr. Watson, I'm not a murderer, unlike your wife."

I glanced at John, frowning at the look of pain and anger on his face. Magnussen sauntered over to the wall and I could tell he was enjoying it. "Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson." There was a beep and Magnussen slid his finger across the glass, the footage disappearing off to the side. "For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well...apart from me."

I saw Sherlock smiling out of the corner of my eye and I caught John's head tilt with curiosity. "Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock. And Sherlock's pressure point is his best friend, John Watson, and his fiancé, Delilah McKinley." I watched as he crossed to the couch. "I own John Watson's wife and Delilah McKinley's mind. I own Mycroft. He's what I'm getting for Christmas."

Magnussen held his hand out expectantly to Sherlock and Sherlock shoved the laptop across the sofa towards him. "It's an exchange, not a gift."

Sherlock stood up and I went to stand with him as well, but he rested a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head. Magnussen picked up the laptop, holding it to his chest. "Forgive me, but I already seem to have it."

"It's password protected," Sherlock replied. I began to feel uneasy and once more, the floor plans were nagging at my thoughts. "In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson."

"Oh, she's bad, that one. So many dead people. You should see what I've seen."

I closed my eyes, going to my library. I didn't want to hear about what Mary had done. The floor plans of Appledore were suspended in front of me on the table, rotating slowly.

"What is it?" I murmured, spinning it again and again. "Something's wrong. Something's off."

" _ **I don't need to see it."**_

" _ **You might enjoy it though. I enjoy it.**_

" _ **Then why don't you show us?"**_

"Because he can't," I said to myself, freezing the plans, zooming in on the supposed basement where the vaults were. "Because if I'm right, there are no vaults under Appledore. These plans are wrong. They don't match up structurally to the rest of the house. Why didn't I see it before?"

" _ **I want everything you've got on Mary." I could tell that Sherlock was trying to keep his voice calm and under control.**_

 _ **Magnussen laughed. "You know, I honestly expected something good."**_

I jerked out of my library, trying to hide the fear from my realization. I wanted to tell Sherlock, but I didn't know how to do it. There were no vaults here. We'd been lured into a trap and he didn't even realize it.

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop-"

"Include a GPS locator. By now, your brother will have noticed the theft and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived, they'll find top secret information in my hands and every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated and free to marry Delilah, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mr. and Mrs. Psychopath." I felt myself shaking and I could tell that John was gritting his teeth. I tried to catch Sherlock's attention, but he was so focused on Magnussen that he didn't see me signing T-R-A-P. "Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He'll be a very, very proud big brother."

"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it."

"Then why am I smiling?" I shuddered, feeling as though I were looking at the toothy smile of a shark before it bit down on me. "Ask me."

"Why are you smiling?" Judging by the tightness in John's voice, I knew he was reaching the end of his patience.

"Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and everything he holds dear. But Delilah knows, don't you?" I said nothing. "Oh, I can tell by the fire in your eye that you know the truth." He stood up slowly from his seat. "Let me show you the Appledore vaults."

"No." I said softly. "Give it back and we walk away."

Magnussen turned that soulless smile onto me. "Oh dear, it's much too late for that. Do you want to tell them or should I let them figure it out on their own?"

"Please. Don't do this," I pleaded, going to stand in front of him. "Give it back, let us walk away."

"A little late for that Ms. McKinley." He patted my cheek patronizingly. "You should have taken the deal when it was still on the table."

"Lila, what's he talking about?" Sherlock questioned as we followed him.

I bit my lip. "I...I won't say. I only hope I'm not right. If I am, you'll know soon enough."

I felt my heart begin to sink as Magnussen put his hands on the wooden doors. "The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all."

As the doors opened, I felt my heart plummet. I had been right. God damn it, I had been _right_. There was nothing in that small windowless room, painted white and brightly lit. There was nothing except for a low backed executive chair. I let out the breath I'd been holding, fighting to steady myself.

"Okay...so where are the vaults then?" John asked.

"There are none," I muttered under my breath. "Damn it, why couldn't I have seen it before?"

Magnussen stared at John before confirming my suspicions. "Vaults? What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building. They're all in here." I looked to Sherlock, watching as it finally hit him and he looked down at me questioningly. "The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock? I would suppose that Delilah does as well, seeing as she managed to figure it out while sitting on my couch."

"Magnussen. Let us go. Please."

He shook his head, that same emotionless smile on his face. "No. I'm afraid I can't let you do that. How to store information so you never forget it by picturing it. Haven't you loved learning it Delilah? I know I did. I just sit here, I close my eyes, and down I go to my vaults."

I could picture it in my own head, more elaborate than the simple library I'd created, a staircase going down and down and down until there was a locked door that only Magnussen could open. I could see it, but it was the one place even I couldn't break into.

"I can go anywhere inside my vaults…my memories. I'll look at the files on Mrs. Watson."

I took Sherlock's hand, whispering, "I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner Sherlock."

"We'll discuss this later," he whispered back. "You and I are going to have to work on your speed."

I watched as Magnussen pantomimed going through folders and I could tell by the look on John's face, that same murderous smile that he'd had the night he'd found out about Mary, that he was beginning to understand exactly how Magnussen worked. I frowned, wondering if I would be able to grab the laptop and make a break for it before Mycroft and Magnussen's security men could get to me. I pictured myself making it about five feet out of the house before I was gunned down. I winced at the image.

"Mmm, ah. This is one of my favorites." Magnussen sat back in the chair. "Oh, it's so exciting. All those wet jobs for the CIA. Ooh! She's gone a bit…freelance now. Bad girl. Ah, she is so wicked. I can really see why you like her."

"Stop it!" I shouted, letting go of Sherlock's hand, stepping up to Magnussen and striking him across the face. His eyes flicked open and he looked at me in shock. "You're a monster."

"You struck me!"

"Yes, I did. I needed to prove to myself that you weren't some god damn machine. Why? Why do you feel the need to do this to people? What kind of monster are you?"

"Oh, you would know monsters wouldn't you? Let's see…" he closed his eyes as he went back into his mind palace. "Delilah McKinley. Former Paralegal. Thief. Porn preference, unknown. Finances, unknown. Status, unimportant. Pressure point," he paused, a smile forming on his lips. "Pressure point, Olivia, Sherlock Holmes, John and Mary Watson, mother, PTSD, rape, death by fire. Why, so much I can use against you Delilah. Where to start?"

"Enough," Sherlock said.

"But it's not. She struck me. So, let's start with your sister, shall we? Your sister who came to me, offering me all of your information on a silver platter in exchange for everything I had on her husband, one Mr. Jim Moriarty. I happily gave it to her. You know why?" I stared at him, horrified. "Because you have disrespected me, more times than most people get."

"So there are no documents," John interrupted, allowing me to step away from Magnussen, going to stand between John and Sherlock. "You don't actually have anything here."

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something if I really need it. But mostly I just remember it all."

John shook his head. "I don't understand."

"You should have that on a t-shirt," Magnussen's voice was oozing with sarcasm and I wanted to punch him in his face for being so rude to John.

"You just remember it all?"

"It's all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning." He looked at Sherlock and I as he said it and I began to shake, trying to control my rage.

"But if you just know it, then you don't have proof."

"Proof?" Magnussen practically spat the word. "What would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it. I just have to print it."

"You son of a bitch," I growled. "You're worse than a monster. You're the devil."

Magnussen laughed, shaking his head. "So quick to anger. Speaking of news, all three of you will be heavily featured tomorrow trying to sell state secrets to me. Let's go outside. They'll be here shortly." He walked out of the room, heading towards the glass doors. "Can't wait to see you arrested."

"Sherlock, do we have a plan?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock was fixed in place, staring down at the floor of the white room. I knew he was thinking, but I didn't know what it could be about. "Sherlock?"

He still didn't move.

"Sherlock." John's voice was stern, but Sherlock still didn't stir. John turned and walked away.

I stroked Sherlock's cheek. "Go to your palace my darling. If anyone can fix this, it's you. I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough. I love you."

I pressed a kiss to his cheek before going and joining John and Magnussen out on the patio.

"I still don't understand," I heard John say as I stepped outside.

"And there's the back of the t-shirt."

"You're a fucking asshole," I snarled, going to stand next to John. "I hope you realize that one day, you will get caught. Mycroft won't stop once his little brother gets put in prison. And Mary will be after you as well."

Magnussen laughed. "The Iceman and the pregnant assassin? Do you really think that I would be afraid of them?

I could see Sherlock slowly walking towards the patio door. John began to speak again. "You just know things. How does that work?"

"I just love your little soldier face. I'd like to punch it." Mine and John's eyes both went wide at his statement. "Bring it over here a minute." I grabbed John's hand, shaking my head as John looked to Sherlock standing in the doorway. "Come on."

I watched in horror as Sherlock gave John a short nod. I could tell that he was in pain having to do it. I didn't want to let go of John's hand, knowing that if I did, Magnussen would win and get what he wanted.

"For _Mary._ Bring me your face." John began to pull away from me and I clung desperately to his hand, not wanting him to go. If Sherlock wasn't going to stand up for him, I would. He managed to pull out of my grip, leaving me to stand, dumbfounded, on the patio.

"Lean forward a bit and stick your face out. Please?" I watched as John did as he was instructed and I knew that if Magnussen hit him that I would beat the man to death, damn the consequences. "Now, can I flick it?" John snorted in disbelief. "Can I flick your face?"

I watched as John stared at Magnussen, who flicked him hard in the cheek. I bit my tongue, fists clenching and unclenching. He did it once. Twice. A third time.

"I just love doing this. I could do it all day. It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed. I know where to find the people who hate her. I know where _they_ live. I know their phone numbers." As he said this, he continued to flick John's face and I felt the tears begin rolling down my cheeks. "All in my Mind Palace…all of it. I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down. And I will, unless you let me flick your face."

"Stop it!" I cried, grabbing John's arm, pulling him away. "Stop! You want to hurt someone, hurt me. I doubt you could break me."

Magnussen smiled. "Oh, I believe I could. You see, all I have to do, is this." He reached up to touch the side of my face and I shuddered, wanting to recoil but knowing that Sherlock couldn't watch his friend hurt anymore and that John couldn't hear anything else about Mary. "This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries just because I know."

His hand travelled lower, stroking against my neck before his hand covered my breast. I held back my tears, staring over his shoulder, trying to picture myself somewhere else, _anywhere_ else. He bent down to my ear. "Can I kiss you now?"

I gulped, glancing at Sherlock, seeing his teeth bared. I felt my lower lip begin to tremble. "Come on, one kiss. Either that or I go back to flicking the stupid soldier's face. Come on. For Mary and John and Sherlock."

"Sherlock?" John asked and I wanted to struggle, to get away. I was beginning to panic.

"Let him. I'm…I'm sorry." Magnussen and I both looked at Sherlock and I winced at his words. "Just…let him."

"Come on. One kiss." He grabbed me by my hair, yanking my face up to look at him. "Janine gave me one once. You can too, I know you can."

Magnussen let me go as the sound of helicopters began to roar around us. I stepped away from him, shielding my eyes from the spotlight. Mycroft's voice blared out over a speaker. "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Delilah McKinley. _Stand away from that man!"_

"Here we go, Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock gave me a kiss on the cheek as he walked up to my side. He lingered for a moment before he shouted over the noise of the helicopter. "To clarify, Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there."

Magnussen looked towards the helicopter. "They're not real. They never have been."

Mycroft's voice came again. "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Delilah McKinley. Step away."

Magnussen waved his hands calmly at the helicopter. "It's fine! They're harmless!"

I heard a police radio crackle. "Target is not armed. I repeat, target is not armed."

"Sherlock, what do we do?" John shouted over all the noise.

I closed my eyes. "There's nothing we can do. It's over John."

"Nothing!" Magnussen confirmed. "There's nothing to be done! Oh, I'm not a villain, nor a monster. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them. Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock looked between myself and John. I could tell by his eyes that there was something going on that I didn't understand. I wanted to go to him, pull him away. I wished that I could reverse time, go back to the cottage, convince Sherlock to not do this, that it was a trap.

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Delilah McKinley, stand away from that man. Do it _now._ "

"Oh, do your research," Sherlock said loudly, lifting his head. As he spoke, I realized that something was missing, something very important that I had kept on my person since I'd first disarmed Mr. Aling all those many months ago. "I'm not a hero. I'm a high-functioning sociopath." I was stepping forward, going to stop Sherlock, knowing what he was going to do. "Merry Christmas!"

He pulled the trigger and I grabbed his arm, but it was too late. He'd already pulled the trigger, shooting Magnussen in the head. Sherlock dropped the gun and I kicked it away. Sherlock was raising his hands and I could hear police shouting man down over the radio everywhere.

"Get away from me, John! Stay well back! And you, Lila, get back! Get back!"

"No!" I nearly screamed at him. "If I move you'll be shot. No!"

"Christ, Sherlock!" John shouted.

Mycroft was also shouting. "Stand fire! Stand fire!"

The police marksmen were running towards the patio, aiming their rifles at Sherlock. I continued to stand in front of him, blocking him with my body, refusing to move. I would not watch him be shot and killed.

"Move Lila!" Sherlock shouted.

"NO!"

"Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire! I will not have civilian casualties!" Mycroft was still shouting and I turned to Sherlock, knowing that I was still shielding him, that laser sights were trained on both my body and his.

"Oh, Christ, Sherlock," John sounded breathless and sick.

Sherlock looked to John. "Give my love to Mary. Tell her she's safe now. And keep Lila safe for me please. I know she'll be devastated."

"I'm standing right here you know," I said, keeping my voice low so that no one else could hear but Sherlock. "I'm standing right here and I'm not leaving you. I know why you did it…but you didn't have to. We would have gotten him another way."

"No we wouldn't. This was the only way." He began to sink to his knees and I did as well, still using my body as his shield. "I love you. I hope you know that."

"I do…" I whispered, feeling the tears begin to slip down my face. "I know that and I love you. Promise me…promise me that you will come back to me."

I put my hands in the air as I knelt down, knowing that I was going to be dragged away for questioning.

"I can't make that promise, Lila. I will do my best, but I can't promise anything."

"Okay. Know that I love you Sherlock and I'll wait for you to come back to me, thief."

Sherlock's lips twitched. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You pickpocketed a pickpocket. Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?"

Sherlock stayed quiet and I could tell that he was far away. There was a despair in his face I'd never seen before. I lowered my head, closing my eyes, trying to fight the tears. I knew he was going to prison, perhaps I would too. I was devastated, but now the world was rid of Magnussen and it was the better for it. Sherlock looked up at the helicopter hovering above us still and I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. I was dragged away from Sherlock as the police stormed the patio. I felt the cuffs placed on my wrists and I went quietly, knowing that whatever happened next was what was meant to happen. As I was dragged away, I thought, for a split second, that I saw Sherlock weeping.

* * *

"You're being released. Your ride is waiting after you retrieve your things. Stay out of trouble Ms. McKinley." I nodded to the officer, getting up from my place on the bench. "I don't want to see you back in here."

I left the cell, going down the hall, picking up my cellphone, gun holster, and keys. I found Mycroft standing outside of the station, smoking a cigarette. "Did you have fun in lockup?"

"Oh shut up," I snapped. "Where's Sherlock? Did you…did you get him out?"

Mycroft glanced down at me before sighing out a plume of smoke. "No. And he will not get out. I am sending him away. I spent most of my day negotiating your release at my brother's request, as well as negotiating Sherlock's exile. He is being sent away on a case."

"Fine. I'll go with him."

"I'm afraid, my dear, that this is a case that he won't be returning from." There was pain in his voice. "I did all I could, but murder is murder."

I sighed. "I thought you'd say that. Where are you sending him?"

"You cannot follow him Delilah. He…he made me promise."

I ran a hand through my hair. "So, what, you expect me to wait here pining for him until one day you knock on the door to the flat and tell me that he's gone?"

"Precisely."

"You're a cold-hearted bastard, you know that? I can see why Moriarty called you Iceman."

Mycroft sighed. "Delilah, you are absolutely impossible. I don't know what my brother sees in you."

"Yes, I know," I said, turning to walk away.

"But on the patio, for a split second, I saw what he sees." I froze. "I saw who Delilah McKinley truly is. Loyal, brave, insanely stupid. And willing to do anything to protect my brother, even if it means that she may die in the process." I turned to see Mycroft smiling. "Why don't you let me buy you a coffee?"

"It's ten-thirty at night."

"Yes, but there's much we need to discuss." He held his arm out to me. "We'll go back to my room that I booked for the night then. I didn't feel like going home tonight. Come along. As you said, it's ten-thirty at night. Might I ask you a question while we walk?"

"Sure, if you'd like. Don't know how willing I'd be to answer them, but you can ask away."

"Why do you love my brother?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why fall in love with him? What is so special about him as opposed to someone normal like John?"

"John's not normal," I said with a chuckle. "Far from it. I mean, he's friends with myself and your brother. How normal can he be?"

"True. Very true." Mycroft hit the button for the crosswalk and we stood there on the corner, waiting. I shivered. "Are you cold?"

"A bit. I don't know what happened to my coat."

"You left it at our parents house," Mycroft replied, shrugging out of his own jacket, giving it to me. "You haven't answered my question yet."

"As I'm trying to come up with an answer. Why are you being so kind to me?"

"Answer the question Delilah."

I looked up at him, frowning. "If I answer yours, will you answer mine?"

"Fine. I fell in love with him because I trusted him. Despite all of our arguments and fights, his having to be right and my being stubborn, I adored him. I would do anything for him, as you saw on the balcony. The night he was shot nearly killed me too, knowing that he was gone." I kept my eyes straight ahead as we crossed the street. "You can't take him from me Mycroft. I will track him down and follow him to the ends of the earth, even if it means that I will die."

"But why do you love him?" Mycroft asked, holding the door to the hotel open for me.

"Because he is everything that I am not. He is ice and logic and sensibility and I am fire and emotions and passion. And together we balance each other out. He is, and to you this is going to sound very stupid, everything that I need and want in this life and I cannot be without him, as he cannot be without me." We stepped into the elevator, Mycroft pushing the button for the seventh floor. "He saved my life."

"And you saved his."

"Aye, I suppose I have. Mycroft...I know you can't understand love, but-"

"I can't. And I won't try to. But I can see the way he looks at you, the way his face changes when he talks about you. I believe you to be good enough for my brother. I am being kind to you, sister mine, because you make him happy." I felt my mouth fall open and Mycroft gave me the tiniest of smiles. "Don't mess it up. Here's the room key."

"Room key for what?" I asked, taking it from him.

"You'll see. Room 707. Thank me later. I'll return your coat to your flat and you can give mine back to me when my assistant gives you yours." He shoved me out of the elevator and I stumbled, turning to look at him as the doors closed. "Thank you Delilah, for keeping him safe."

The doors closed and I stood there, dumbfounded, looking down at the keycard in my hand. "What on earth are you up to Mycroft?"

I walked down the hall, stopping in front of room 707. I pressed my ear to the door, listening and hearing nothing. I put the key in the lock, watching as the light lit up a brilliant green. I pushed the door open and the sound of violin began to play. My mouth went dry when I saw Sherlock's silhouette against the window, his violin in his hands.

I closed the door, going to sit on the bed, watching as he played. I was mesmerized by the music, staring at him. He finished the song, lifting the bow from the violin. "You're late."

"I didn't know I was expected."

Sherlock turned to look at me. "Why didn't you move when I asked you to?"

"Really Sherlock? Why _would_ I?"

"Because I asked you to."

I laughed. "Sherlock, since when have you known me to do anything that you asked me to?"

"Lila, you could have been killed."

"And so could you if I had moved," I protested, laying back on the bed. "Jesus, Sherlock, the first time I see you since you killed Magnussen and you want to have a debate about why I should or shouldn't have moved."

"What would you have me talk about?"

"I don't know. I mean, a simple how are you would have been nice. Or how are Mary and John holding up since this all happened? Which, they're fine by the way. John came to visit me in my cell today."

"I'm sorry that you were held for so long. I tried to get them to release you. But they thought that you'd handed me the gun and when it came back as being owned by some gentleman who is now in prison...well, they wanted to have you arrested." I sighed. "I convinced Mycroft to have the charges dropped against you."

"That was nice of you," I murmured, still staring at the ceiling. "Sherlock. I know you're leaving."

I heard him set his violin down before coming to lay next to me on the bed, both of us staring up at the ceiling. "Yes. I am."

I looked over at him. "And you'll be coming back when?"

He continued to stare at the ceiling. "We both know the answer to that question."

"I know. But I wanted to hear you say it. I won't believe it until you do."

Sherlock rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on one arm to look down at me. "Do you really want to hear me say it? Will it make it real for you?"

"Yes."

"Fine...I won't be coming back. Mycroft predicts that I'll have roughly six months before my cover is blown and then I will be summarily executed."

I swallowed hard, fighting the tears. "And then?"

"What do you mean and then? I'll be dead."

"What will they do with your body?"

"More than likely they'll dump me in a mass grave. They may send my head back to my brother, but that's only if they figure out who I am." He glanced over at me. "You knew this was going to happen."

"I knew that _something_ was going to happen. They couldn't let you get away with murder. But this...this is...Sherlock, you can't go. We'll leave the country tonight, go back to Ireland, stay at my grandparents' old house out near Adare. They won't find us."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to my forehead. "My brother has me under surveillance so that I don't try something like that. It's a good try."

"Sherlock, you can't just go to _die!_ There's so much left of life."

Sherlock chuckled, resting one hand on my hip. "Do you really think that I would die so easily? My brother may normally be right about these things, but I am very hard to kill as you've seen. I will do everything in my power to come back to you and then we will have our wedding."

I smiled despite the tears. "Do you promise me?"

"I don't make promises. But I will do my best. Now...how have you been? Did the police treat you alright?"

I nodded. "It was fine. I've been in a cell once or twice before. Nothing new. Same uncomfortable benches and noisy people."

"Well, you're here now."

"Yes, I am. But...why am I here?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?" He asked, his hand skimming over my body. "Really? I know you're smarter than that."

"Did Mycroft arrange this?" He nodded. "Well then, I'm assuming he intended to give us one last night to ourselves."

"Mmm."

"One last night for us to be together, to share before he sends you to your death."

"Sounds about right," he murmured, leaning down to kiss me. "One last night before your hero goes off to war."

I giggled. "I didn't know you were a hero. I thought you were a high functioning sociopath and that we all needed to do our research."

"That I am. But when I'm around you, I'm more than that." Sherlock pressed a kiss to my neck and I sighed. "I am a hero, a man. A good man is what I believe you called me."

"Aye. Because you are."

He laughed low in his throat. "Despite my killing Magnussen?"

"Even more so for killing that bastard."

He kissed me again and I tilted my head, deepening the kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close to me. He pulled away, resting his forehead against mine. I stroked the back of his neck with my fingers, feeling him shudder against me. "How do you do this to me?"

"I could ask the same thing of you Mr. Holmes," I murmured, my eyes closed, enjoying the feel of his body pressed on top of mine. "But I think that some things are better left a mystery."

I heard the smile in his voice. "For once, I'll agree and say that this is one mystery I don't want to solve." I opened my eyes, finding Sherlock's open as well, seeming to peer into my soul. "I will miss you, Lila. Very much."

"I'll miss you too Sherlock...I...I don't want to lose you." The tears began to fall and he tenderly wiped them away.

"Hush now. No tears. This night is for us to make happy memories that will carry us through the next six months apart." Sherlock pressed another kiss to my forehead, but I felt a couple of teardrops fall into my hair. "I feel as if I'm losing a part of me that I didn't know I had until I met you."

"I feel the same way. I love you."

"I love you too Delilah."

I hooked one leg around his waist, smiling gently. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Well, what normal couples do when they declare their affections for one another. If you'd have me that is." Sherlock and I smiled and then our lips touched for what would probably be one of our last kisses.

* * *

"Sherlock?" I murmured, tracing the muscles on his chest with my fingertips.

"Mmm?"

"Why do you love me?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity."

He propped himself up on his elbow. "Come take a shower with me."

"Will I get an answer if I do?"

"Yes. Come on."

He took my hand, leading me to the bathroom. I followed him, sitting on the edge of the spacious counter as he turned the water on, letting it warm up. When he turned back to me, there was a smile on his face. "Look at you."

"Look at me what?"

"Just look at you. Regal, graceful, commanding. Beautiful. And there's that smile that I've missed." He stepped between my legs, grabbing my waist as I smiled up at him. "You're breathtaking when you smile. It lights up the whole room."

"Are you drunk?"

"No. Completely sober minus a bit of nicotine." He brushed my hair from my face. "You know I heard you in that hospital room when you told me how you see me?"

"And?"

"I didn't picture you as a romantic or one prone to long speeches."

I laughed. "I could say the same about you. Never thought I'd hear you say the words I love you."

"I never thought I'd say them either. But I guess the impossible can become possible." He pulled me closer to him. "You are my impossibility. The person I could never deduce, the one person that, in all honesty, I should have never loved. Sentiment, romantic thoughts and feelings, caring...none of that was even on my very limited emotional spectrum until I pulled you in off the street. But you...you changed everything."

I smiled, pulling his head down to me, pressing a kiss to his lips, our naked bodies molding against one another. His hands tightened on my hips and I buried my fingers into his hair, feeling that same burning need in the pit of my belly that I'd had since the first time we'd kissed on Christmas last year. One hand fisted itself in my hair, the other cupping my breast, his thumb running over the hard nipple. I moaned into his mouth and he was kissing down my jaw and neck, pressing kisses anywhere that he could.

Sherlock lifted me off the counter and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressing my body against his. We stepped into the shower and he was pushing me against the wall. Tongue met tongue and body met body even as the hot water washed over us. I barely even felt the water as Sherlock slid inside of me. He held me tight even as he thrust deep inside of me. I let out another moan even as he leaned down, licking and gently biting my nipples.

He began to thrust harder and faster. I felt as though I were flying towards the edge of orgasm at breakneck speeds. My nails dug into his back, my head resting against the wall of the shower as I looked down at him. He straightened up, still keeping the rhythm.

"I want to watch you," he whispered in my ear and I shuddered. "I want to watch you fly over that edge."

"Go with me," I panted out, lightly nipping at his neck. "Sherlock...go with me."

I stared into his eyes and I felt myself standing on that edge. I began to fall and I cried out his name even as he pushed harder and faster before moaning out my name, burying his face in my shoulder. He slid out of me and I unwrapped my legs from around his waist, standing on trembling legs in front of him. His face was still buried in my shoulder and I ran my nails gently down his back. He shuddered, pressing a whisper of a kiss against the side of my neck.

"Good?" I murmured and he nodded, arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me tight against him. "Good. Now, why don't we get our shower?"

He stood up. "I suppose. I won't be ready again for another couple of hours."

I raised an eyebrow. "Three times in one night?"

"What can I say? If this is our last night together, I want it to be a special one." He grabbed the shampoo bottle from the bottom of the tub, squirting some out in his hand. "Now turn around so that I can wash your hair."

I did as he said, feeling his fingers begin to scrub my scalp. I let my head fall back, feeling myself relax almost instantly. "You know, if your career as a consulting detective or a violinist didn't work out, you could always wash hair for a living."

Sherlock chuckled. "Oh, I highly doubt anyone would want me washing their hair. The moment they opened their mouth I'd have some sort of remark."

"True. Well, that's fine because I don't want to share your magic fingers with the world anyway." Sherlock guided me to the water and I rinsed out my hair. As I did, his hands traced down my naked body, fingers pausing on the scar on my lower abdomen. "What is it?"

"I...never looked at the bullet wound scar you had. Moriarty...married your sister then, did he?"

"It would seem so. I'm sure you saw when she was holding the gun, the two bands on her left hand."

"I did. He never seemed the type to marry though."

"Well, I mean, they were perfect for one another. I'm glad he's dead."

"I am too," Sherlock murmured, pulling me from the water, massaging conditioner into my hair. "I'd hate to have to go up against both of them. Do you know how they met?"

"On holiday in 2006. She'd gone to Ireland to visit family and met him at a local pub. They hit it off right away. I've no doubt that he played some role in getting her into the world of crime. Probably told her that she would be bettering the world. That was her reason for doing everything. She wanted to make the world a better place." I frowned. "I suppose that if you're as smart as Moriarty, you know how to play people like my sister. Or maybe she really is evil."

"Don't worry. You're safe. I've already told Mycroft and John. They'll keep an eye on you while I'm gone."

"It's not about my feeling safe. It's about my not wanting something bad to happen to you or John or Mary because of me. While my sister is out there, she will find any and every thing she can to hurt me. It's why she went to Magnussen. She knew that whatever he would do would hurt me." I sighed. "Let's not kill the moment."

"You're right," Sherlock said, sticking my head back under the water, scrubbing to get the conditioner out. "Let's not. Once that's out you'll be all done. There should be someone knocking on the door in a bit. Mycroft is having food brought to the room for us."

"That's awfully kind of him."

"It is. I'm not questioning it."

"Neither am I," I said in agreeance, running a hand through my hair to make sure that all of the conditioner was out. "But I'm done. You get your shower and I'll see you in a few minutes."

Sherlock smiled, giving me a quick kiss. I touched the side of his face before exiting the shower, grabbing a towel off of the rack, drying my body off quickly before wrapping my hair up. I grabbed a robe from the shelf above the towel rack, wrapping myself in it. I went straight to the window, gazing out at the city below.

I thought back to how my life had changed so drastically in a year's time. But I wouldn't change a single thing about it, even the bad. It had been the bad things that had brought Sherlock and I closer together. This was one more obstacle for us to overcome and then he would be back to me and we would finally be married. I knew that he would come back to me. Something in my heart told me that and I had to have hope that it was true.

I heard my phone buzz and I went to where I'd left it on the bedside table. I flipped it open.

 _ **Where are you? I've been waiting at the flat for the past hour for you to get home. Are you alright? -JW**_

 _ **I'm fine. I'm safe. I'll see you and Mary tomorrow. -DM**_

 _ **After we're done at the airfield tomorrow. Sherlock's being sent away. You're coming with us, right? -JW**_

 _ **No. I'm saying my good-byes a bit early. -DM**_

 _ **So you're where they're keeping Sherlock? -JW**_

 _ **Yes. He sends his regards. You'll see him tomorrow. I can't see him like that. I'll talk to you later. Room service just knocked on the door. -DM**_

I got up from the bed, going to open the door. The man wheeled in a cart with a bucket of champagne and two covered plates. Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and I smiled as the man gaped at him.

"What, have you never seen a man in a towel before?"

"Y-you're-"

"Sherlock Holmes, yes, I know. Now, if you're done, would you please leave? I would like to enjoy the rest of my night without having someone gawk at me." The man scurried out, closing the door behind him. Sherlock turned to look at me. "What?"

"A bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. But we only have eight and a half more hours before Mycroft's men come to escort me down to my plane."

I frowned. "Don't remind me."

"Sorry. But...should we eat?" He lifted the lids off of our meals, revealing two steaks and some steamed vegetables. "I know it's not fish and chips, but-"

I chuckled, shaking my head before going to sit at the table where Sherlock was sitting our plates. "You know, I do eat more than that."

Sherlock smiled, pouring a glass of champagne for both of us. "I know. You seem to have an addiction to them though."

I took a sip of my champagne. "No, not an addiction. It's more of a comfort thing. That's the one food I'll eat, even if I'm not hungry. If I won't eat that, you know that something's wrong."

"So I've noticed." Sherlock cut into his steak and I was happy to see him eat. "So tell me, how did you figure out that there were no vaults under Appledore?"

I took a bite of my steamed vegetables. "My Mind Palace. Or, Mind Library I should say. A palace is a bit too big for me to manage at the moment. I've got it so that I can project images from the center of the table and manipulate them as you would a movie." Sherlock seemed genuinely intrigued. "I had a 3-D projection up of Appledore, as well as all of the floor plans. I layered all of them over each other and realized that they didn't match up. Which meant that either we had the wrong plans, which I doubted, or there were no vaults."

Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear. "You are a lot smarter than you let on."

I blushed, something that Sherlock hadn't been able to get me to do for a long time. "Thank you Sherlock. That...means alot coming from you."

"Well, you are. You've managed to grasp the concept of a Mind Palace in three months and you've been using it. Really, all we need to do is work on your analysis speed. You won't be as smart as me, but you'd be damn better than most people."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered."

"Flattered. I don't give compliments easily. You know this."

"Well, I'll practice while you're gone. I was thinking about getting a job at Scotland Yard. I'm sure Greg could put in the good word for me. That and with you gone, I'll have to find a way to pay for the flat-"

"Don't worry about that. Mycroft will be taking care of the flat. You can keep your job at the clinic, get your degree in nursing that you've been thinking about getting." I stared up at him, eyes wide. "What? Did you think I wouldn't notice you studying?"

"My-Mycroft is paying...for the flat?" I choked out. "Your brother? Your brother who _despises_ me?"

"He and I talked. A couple of times actually. Once outside the flat and once when he secured my exile." Sherlock continued to eat, acting as if he hadn't dropped a bombshell on me. "I told him I wanted you taken care of and protected. That you had nothing to do with any of it and were, in fact, a victim. I also told him that if you ended up back on the streets, I would leave exile, hunt him down, and personally choke the life out of him."

He said this so calmly and I was taken aback by it. "But...why on earth would Mycroft agree?"

"Who knows why Mycroft does anything. Probably views you as a potential ally on cases or something. You never know with him. Eat your food before it gets cold."

I shook my head, chuckling. "Fine. Have it your way."

He smiled at me and I smiled back, eating the rest of our meal in silence.

* * *

I woke up at 6:30 to the sunshine beginning to peek over the horizon through the curtains. I slowly got out of bed, going to stand to look out the window as the city came to life. I glanced back at Sherlock, looking at his peaceful face, one arm tucked under his head, the other on the bed where I'd been asleep. I felt the tears touch my eyes, knowing that this would be the last time that I saw him for a very long time, if not forever. I brushed his hair away from his forehead, pressing a kiss there tenderly. He murmured something before rolling onto his back and I smiled.

I dressed quickly, putting on the same pink jumper and black dress slacks I'd had on the day before, as well as Mycroft's coat. I brushed my hair, looking at myself in the mirror, taking a deep breath. I knew I wouldn't be able to face him awake. I wanted to leave things in my mind as they were so I could call up the memories we'd created that night instead of painfully awkward good-byes. I grabbed my phone and keys before spotting the pen and paper on the nightstand. I frowned before deciding to write my final note to Sherlock until he returned.

 _ **My dearest Sherlock,**_

 _ **I wanted to write you a letter this morning, explaining my actions. I do not wish for our last moments to be filled with painful good-byes and awkward tears. I've never been good at them anyway. I wish to remember you as we were last night. I will miss you dearly and I know that I cannot write to you where you're going. I also know that you cannot make any promises to me about returning. But I wish to make a promise to you, one that you can keep with you and read when you are missing me.**_

 _ **I promise you, Sherlock Holmes, that I will love you every day that you are gone and I will miss you with every breath I take. I promise you that I will wait day and night for you to return home to my arms once more. I will remain steadfast by your side, no matter how many miles or oceans they try to put between us. I am a phone call away and should you need anything, I will be there in the blink of an eye.**_

 _ **I love you. I have loved you since I first met you and I will love you until my last breath. Go now, for the game is on. But when you are done, come back to me and make me your wife.**_

 _ **This is not good-bye my darling, but merely see you soon.**_

 _ **Love always,**_

 _ **Lila**_

I folded the note, writing his name in cursive on the front before placing it by his hand where I'd been sleeping. I pressed one last kiss to his forehead before I left the room, leaving my heart behind, asleep in the bed.

 _ **Thank you. -DM**_

 _ **What on earth are you thanking me for? -MH**_

 _ **For everything. You're a great big brother to him. Promise me you'll do your best to protect him. -DM**_

 _ **I will do what I can. But it comes down to him at the end of it all. There is something waiting for you at the flat. Sherlock asked me to pick it up this morning and leave it for you. -MH**_

 _ **What is it? -DM**_

 _ **You'll see. -MH**_

I arrived at 221B to find Mrs. Hudson upstairs, talking with someone. I approached slowly, reaching down for the gun in my holster before remembering that Mycroft's men still had it in their custody. I cursed, creeping up the stairs, pushing the door open. Mrs. Hudson was standing in front of something on the floor, speaking to it.

"Oh, aren't you adorable! Yes you are!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson, what are you talking to?"

"Oh! Oh, Delilah, you gave me a fright!" Mrs. Hudson tittered, placing one hand on her chest. "Mycroft told me that you would be home soon and to keep an eye on her for you."

"Her?"

"Yes, her. Didn't you know about her?"

I stepped next to Mrs. Hudson, looking down into the cardboard box. I let out a cry of delight as I saw the small Irish setter puppy leaping around inside the box. I picked her up and she began licking my face, tail wagging furiously. I giggled, holding her close to me.

"Oh, you're so precious. Yes you are!" She continued to lick my face and I laughed. "Alright, alright. Stop."

She settled in my arms after a couple more minutes and I scratched behind her ears. I looked at Mrs. Hudson, watching as she reached out to pet the pup. "Does she have a name?"

"Well, she has a collar. I suppose that she would have a name." I grabbed the tag, reading it. "Scarlett." I flipped it over. "If lost, please return to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes at 221B Baker Street."

"You and Sherlock, you've gotten married?"

"No, not yet. We're going to when he returns back. Mrs. Hudson, would you mind keeping Scarlett for an hour or so? I've got to prep everything for her so that she doesn't chew on any electrical cords or anything."

"Of course dear. I'll be cleaning downstairs. I'll take her box with me, keep her in that."

"Thank you." I gave her a smile. "I'll be down soon."

"Alright." She began to leave, carrying the box in one hand, the puppy in the other before she turned to me. "Weren't you going to go and say your good-byes to Sherlock?"

"I already did Mrs. Hudson. I'll see him when he returns."

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "He found a good woman when he found you. I'll see you in a bit dear."

I watched as she began to go down the stairs and I closed the door. I stood there for a second before saying, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh Del, what _wouldn't_ I be doing here is the better question?" Olivia stepped from around the corner, grinning from ear to ear. "I heard about your boyfriend. What a shame he turned out to be a murderer? I am glad to see that the shock of him being a murderer didn't dull your senses any."

"No it hasn't. And if you'd like to talk about murderers, why don't we talk about your husband? Are you saying your husband wasn't?"

I watched her eyes darken. "No. He's not."

"I seem to remember a time when he shot me in the stomach and left me to die. Or was that not him?"

"So you did get the tapes! Excellent! I was worried that Magnussen would keep them for himself. What did you think of our father's execution tape? I tried to add a bit of artistic flare to it. Jimmy said that it wasn't that bad for my first time."

"I think you're a sick and twisted human being."

"You always were such a spoilsport Del. Come now, tell me what you really think?" She sat down in Sherlock's chair and I ground my teeth together. "Don't be shy. I love a good critic's opinion."

"You want my opinion? My opinion is that you should be dead like your stupid husband. Mr. and Mrs. Moriarty, buried together in the same plot. You two really were made for each other. Tell me, does it hurt to know that he's dead because of my fiance?"

Olivia pulled out a gun, getting to her feet, aiming it at my head. "One more word and I will blow your fucking brains out. One more fucking word, Del, and I swear I will drop you where you stand."

"Do it. But know that you will have the world's greatest consulting detective on your trail." We circled each other and I had my back to the kitchen, Olivia standing in front of me. "You know that he will not stop until he hunts you down and finishes you himself."

Olivia began to laugh, her laughter growing in volume even as she kept the gun trained on me. "He is right you know, my husband. You and little Sherlock Holmes are both idiots."

"Is? You mean was, right?"

I felt the pinprick in my neck and I staggered away, the room spinning around me. I clutched at the puncture wound, but it was too late. Whatever they'd dosed me with was moving fast through my system and I was falling to the floor. Someone caught me, setting me down on my back. Those black eyes came into my vision and I tried to let out a shriek of terror, but no sound escaped from between my lips. He knelt down next to me, that manic smile on his lips. My vision began to grow dark, but not before I heard Jim Moriarty speak.

"Hello sister dear. Long time no see. Did you miss me?"

 ***And that my dear readers, is where I will end. I hope you all enjoyed and I will see you in the next work!***


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